


Absolution

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Series: Fairy Dust [8]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 17:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14549286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: A decision Face makes on a mission will never leave him and threatens to rob him of all he holds dear.Warning for mentions of the horrors of war and terrorism. Graphic but brief.





	Absolution

It was a cold morning, as befitting the season Face supposed as he stalked determinedly across the base, his breath clouding in front of him, his Class A uniform keeping the worst of the chill away. It was still early, still dark and there were Christmas lights shining from many of the windows he passed but none of them filled him with anything like the joy they should; how could that be possible when everything was so very bleak and uncertain?

A woman in BDUs hurried past him, flashing a quick smile as she dragged a resisting child in her wake, no doubt on their way to Child Care, and Face felt a dreadful, cold spike inside him as he wondered if his own children were awake yet. They’d both been asleep when he’d left that morning, leaving them with BA leaning against the kitchen counter, his hands gripping his mug, his eyes sombre and set. Face had looked in on them both, had kissed their sleeping cheeks, inhaled their uniquely wonderful child-scent and walked out of their rooms, wondering when he’d ever get the chance to walk back in again. Waking them had never been an option – if he had, if he’d told them what fate might be awaiting them before Santa had paid his visit tomorrow night, well, he knew he’d never have found the strength to go through with today at all. 

His feet had carried him all the way across the base as he mused and he stopped, looking up at the blank faced building staring back at him then, feeling a lot like Jonah, he took a deep breath and stepped in through the imposing double doors. 

The tree in the lobby was huge, pine scented and draped in blue and silver baubles. On any other day the sight would have made Face smile, would have made his stomach squirm in childish excitement but not on this day; he hardly gave it a second glance as he passed by and headed for the stairs in the far left corner. His highly polished Oxfords reflected the twinkling fairy lights as they nipped his heels and echoed up and down the empty staircase. He hated them, hated his stiff and uncomfortable ASU – but then there was very little about any of this to like at all. 

“Lieutenant Peck.”

He glanced up as his name was called, saw Captain Morrow, his appointed Area Defence Counsel leaning over the banister watching him, his eyes as dark as the morning and Face had to reel in the desire to sigh. Loudly. A terse, “Morning,” all he allowed himself instead.

“Hurry up, I want to go through your rebuttal one more time, make sure you are familiar with what you’ve said.” He moved to a dark wood door, a grinning Santa Claus looking out of place pinned to the sombre wood, and pushed through.

“I know what’s in it,” Face’s voice was low but carried down the silent corridor nonetheless, “I wrote it.”

Morrow was a prick, a grade A prick in Face’s opinion, but he was a decent enough Attorney; at least, Face hoped he was because that’s what he needed here. That or a God-damn miracle. Following him into the tiny room, Face eased himself stiffly into the single empty wooden chair and watched impartially as Morrow flicked through his paperwork. Hannibal had wanted to use a different judge advocate, had wanted to go to the top, use the best, pull in every contact he had to get a really big gun in to fight Face’s corner but Face had refused. Bringing in the heavy mob to try and clear his name was akin to admitting he was worried, admitting he had something to be ashamed of in his conduct and maybe he did – but he was still pretty adamant he hadn’t broken any Rules of Engagement or committed any crime. Why should he need some big shot lawyer just to prove that?

It had caused arguments between them but Face had stood his ground and then he’d been suspended anyway, advised to have only limited and essential contact with his Commanding Officer until his hearing and any further opportunities for debate had vanished. Hannibal moved out, out of his own damn house and Face shook his head at the memory. He’d wanted to go, had offered to go, had a hotel all lined up for him and the kids but Hannibal had refused to hear of it. “It’s their home,” he’d insisted and Face’s throat had tightened painfully.

“And yours,” he’d insisted. “You paid the mortgage.”

“And now you pay me rent.” He did, and they had their own separate rooms and spaces – it was all part of the smokescreen they lived under, protecting themselves and the kids from any unneeded unpleasantness. 

“Hannibal…” he’d shaken his head in disbelief at how this was all playing out, “I can’t ask you to move out…”

“You’re not,” Hannibal’s eyes had been hard. “I’m going of my own free will. Morrow’s right, it doesn’t look good at all, us sharing like this in the circumstances.”

Face had been stunned into silence by that and had simply sat in the kitchen, staring sightlessly at the paintings stuck to the fridge door whilst Hannibal had packed up; he’d only realised he’d actually gone when he heard the car’s engine start up on the driveway. He hadn’t seen him since then, hadn’t even spoken to him, and what the fuck did that mean? He supposed that was something else he’d find out during the course of the day. Another possible nail hammered into the coffin of his life. 

“Lieutenant?”

Face blinked back to the present and took the folder that Morrow was holding out for him, opening it up and skim-reading as ordered. He didn’t really need to read it at all, he knew what was in it, every single word, they were all burnt into his very consciousness. It soaked up some time though, he’d already noticed the clock on the wall telling him he only had forty minutes left before it all started and he honestly didn’t know how he’d get through that time without vomiting all over his stiff and previously unworn uniform. 

“You understand how all this is going to go?” Why was Morrow still talking to him? Did he want Face to read the damn thing or not? “The whole Article 32 Hearing?”

Face leaned back in his seat, tipped his head to one side and coldly regarded his brief. Seriously? Did the guy think he’d thought about anything else since that whole fuck-awful mission? 

“Of course,” he drawled laconically. “It’s where we all sit round on our assess and drink fucking coffee and talk about how a decision made in the field in roughly three fucking seconds can be twisted and warped and turned into something it isn’t.” He paused for breath and with some difficulty, hauled his burgeoning anger back under control, cracking out a shit-eating grin instead. “Then all the brass say they’re sorry for fucking with my life, give me a pat on the back and a medal and send me back to my unit. Right?”

Silence hung in the tiny room. Down the corridor Face could hear footsteps and voices and knew it was the other officers arriving for his hearing; wondered if Hannibal was among them, then pushed that thought away and concentrated instead on meeting Morrow’s narrowed eyes. 

The silence stretched on, became uncomfortable and invasive and then, finally, Morrow spoke, nothing more than a hiss in the dead of the room. “Fucking attention, soldier.”

Again, Face had to resist the desire to sigh, was this guy for real? He saw the furious glint in his eye though, had no real desire to enter this circus without any legal support and anyway, he supposed he’d made the decision to keep Morrow on board, the least he could do was appear to cooperate with him. He kept up his eye contact, knew damn well he was pushing the insubordination just about as far as he could go, and slowly rose into a reasonable approximation of attention and wondered if Morrow had the balls to try and push him further. 

It seemed he didn’t, he just waited until Face had dragged his eyes onto the opposite wall before stepping in, his breath hot and coffee smelling as his nose came somewhere close to Face’s chin. “Listen to me, you fucking punk,” he hissed and Face felt that anger stir once more. “You think for one minute I wanted this dead-end, closed book, open and shut fucking sink-hole of a case? You think I wanted to represent one of Hannibal Smith’s dead beat losers? One of the barely functioning nutters he uses to darken our door in the always-inevitable investigative hearing?” The words hurt, how could they not? But Face tried to keep his expression blank.

“No, I absolutely did not.” Stalking behind Face’s back, Morrow came up to rest at his right shoulder. “You were assigned to me and I have worked my butt off to try and make the best of a fucking awful job here, to try and get something out of this for both of us despite your fucking insane insistence not to try and bargain on a plea of guilty.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Face believed this, didn’t he? Why the hell was it so hard for everyone else to see it?

Morrow just spat out a sigh. “You’ve admitted firing the fatal shot. There’s no credible witness to back up your claims. Photographic evidence and the evidence of every other service man there also refutes everything you’ve said.” He shook his head. “You’re going down, Peck. Court Martial, dismissal, jail term, it’s all coming your way and dragging me down with it – there’s nothing I can do to stop that now. The least you could do is stop being so damn defiant and recognise the danger you are in – don’t you care if you have to spend twenty years away from your kids?”

It was a low blow and Face actually felt it land in his chest. It was all he cared about, everything. They’d already lost their mommy, was he really going to do this to them? Vanish out of their lives as well? And then what would happen to them? They’d lose their home, their friends, their school, their lives… and for what? A snap decision that would haunt him for the rest of his life. The desire to run was almost over-powering.

Morrow sighed again and stalked to the far side of the room leaving Face wrestling to stay upright and keep his expression neutral as his emotions raged inside him. “You’ve got to work with me here, Peck.” He sounded tired, defeated; not what Face needed to hear with only minutes to go. “You can still change your plea. Register a guilty and we’ll see what we can work with. You’ll probably still get the dismissal, but we might get to keep your ass out of jail. It’s Christmas in two days, what a present that would be for the kids.”

Face’s throat was too tight to speak, but he shook his head – it was all or nothing here, there was no way he could let his principles slide over this. Could he? Or couldn’t he? Fucking hell, weeks of doing nothing else but thinking had still left him with nowhere to go.

There was a knock at the door and a, “Five minutes, Captain Morrow, sir!” was called through the wood.

Morrow sighed yet again. “Come on, Face…” it was the first time he’d used that name. “Give me something to work with here. Help yourself.”

With a gargantuan effort, Face hauled himself together and turned to look the brief in the eye. “I’ve done nothing wrong,” he insisted, his voice quiet and rough. “Think about it. Why else would I have done it? Why would I be standing here, insisting on my innocence unless I was? It’s like you said, I’m screwed here, so why would I do it? Why would I insist on holding my ground?”

Shaking his head, Morrow stepped towards the door. “It’s not enough. Nowhere near enough. Change your plea, tell them it was an accident, you didn’t mean to pull the trigger, you hit the wrong target, something, I don’t know… Make it easy on yourself. Think of your kids.”

Face closed his eyes and took a breath. Fuck – thinking of his kids – it was all he did. “I didn’t make a mistake,” his voice was low but steady as he looked back at Morrow. “I hit exactly what I meant to hit,” Morrow shook his head and rubbed at his brow. “And I’m not taking a fall for this. I’m just not. It’s not an option, you understand me?”

“Do you understand I can’t help you then?” Morrow countered and Face just held his eyes. The ADC sighed once more and opened the heavy wooden door. “Come on, it’s time.”

__________________________

 

Face stood to perfect attention, his eyes on a fixed point on the wall, his fists balled against his sides, the tension clear in the veins standing out on the backs of his hands. “Do you understand the charge against you, the unlawful killing of Yousef Abdul Abdulla, as it has been read, Lieutenant Peck?”

He swallowed some moisture into his mouth. “Yes, sir.”

Colonel Josh Garner leant back in his seat and flicked through the papers in his hand. “And you are preserving your plea of not guilty?”

“Yes, sir.”

Someone to Face’s right, Hannibal possibly, shifted slightly and Face had to force himself to keep his eyes fixed and forward. “I see…” Garner himself edged forward a little on his seat. “And has your brief explained the implications of maintaining a not guilty plea, Lieutenant?”

“He has, sir. Thoroughly.”

Again, “I see…” Papers rustled and a seat cushion squeaked and Face stood and concentrated on getting through it all. 

“Colonel Smith,” again Face had to force himself not to look. “You are the Lieutenant’s commanding officer, aren’t you?”

The figure to his right rose slowly to its feet. “I am,” and how wonderful to hear Hannibal's voice again after such a long silence. 

“I see you have written quite a lengthy report in here, one that I have studied in great depth.” So had Face, it had been detailed and factual and totally lacking in anything that could help Face out. At all. “But I do have a few questions I’d like to ask you. Is that okay? To do that now?” Face knew he was asking both the counsels for permission to deviate slightly from the fixed format but couldn’t quite work out of that was a good thing or not. He heard Morrow agree though and so just forced himself to stay quiet and trust. 

“Thank you. In your report, Colonel Smith, I find it unclear as to whether or not, at any point, you had a direct line of sight to Yousef Abdul Abdulla.” There was no question there, and Hannibal, Face knew, was far too wise to offer anything without a direct question. “Did you?” Garner clarified into the silence, “Ever have a direct line of sight to the deceased?”

There was a pause, a pause just long enough to make Face’s heart pound hard against his ribs before Hannibal answered. “Lieutenant Peck is an exemplary Executive Officer and a marksman of the very highest calibre. Since he reported that-” 

“That was not my question,” Garner’s voice was not raised, but it was clear he was less than impressed with Hannibal's answer. “And I could save us all a lot of time here, Colonel, if I told you that all I require is a simple yes or no to my question. Let’s try again. From the moment that Yousef Abdul Abdulla left the dwelling at the western end of the village to the time that Lieutenant Peck discharged his rifle, did you, at any point, have a clear line of sight to the deceased?”

Again the pause, followed by a quiet, “No.”

“I see. No one in your unit did?”

“Captain Murdock did. He was with Lieutenant Peck on the roof of the coffee house.”

Another pause, from Garner this time, and Face knew exactly what was coming even before the words drifted into the silent room. “Captain Murdock? Captain James Murdock, formerly of the 2nd Ranger Battalion? An officer with,” he appeared to be counting, “seven mental health referrals over the course of his career?” 

“Captain Murdock has a yearly mental health assessment, sir,” this, surprisingly, was Morrow jumping in to Murdock’s defence, “and every single one has been clear in the fifteen years he’s served with Colonel Smith.”

“Hmmm,” Garner was back to flicking papers and Face risked letting his eyes drift sideways until he could just make out Hannibal's tall form across the room from himself. “He had a good view of the incident then?”

“He had exactly the same view as Lieutenant Peck.” Hannibal again and Face couldn’t help frowning at the vague nature of that reply. 

“And what about Major Cruis then?” this question appeared to be asked of the counsel for the US Army and Face’s frown deepened at the mention of the bastard who’d started this whole nightmare off. “What was his view?”

“He was positioned to the west of Lieutenant Peck. Closer to the Mosque. He had a clear view of the shooting and was the first to reach the deceased once he fell.”

“He had a clear view of the Mosque,” Hannibal’s voice was low and undeniably annoyed, “but not of the street beyond. And he was the first US serviceman to reach the scene, there had been up to fifty Iraqi civilians there before him.”

“I see…” More rustling, “And this picture? Was taken by Cruis? After the civilians retreated?”

Face forced himself to look up, to take in the lifeless body, the pool of blood soaking the dusty ground, to acknowledge the life that he had taken.

“It was, sir,” Morrow again.

“And you’ll be calling him for cross examination?” 

A short pause, Face tore his eyes away from the photographic evidence of his actions that day just as Morrow finally answered, “I am, sir.” He wasn’t, or at least he hadn’t been up until then; Face wondered what had sparked his change of heart. 

“Okay then, thank you Colonel Smith, you are excused from this hearing for now. No doubt you will be called upon again, later in the day.”

There was the scraping of a chair, heavy feet on the wooden floor, a door opening and closing and then Garner’s eyes were back on Face. “Right then, Lieutenant, at ease.” Stiffly, Face adjusted his position. “Since the USA Army redeployed to Iraq two years ago, we take our role there as protectors of the civilian population very seriously indeed. I think it would be best if you started these proceedings proper by telling us, in your own words, what happened on the twenty seventh of October 2017 and the exact chain of events that lead to the death of Yousef Abdul Abdulla.”

The room fell silent once more. Face swallowed hard, tried to get some moisture into his mouth and then quietly accepted the glass of water that Morrow pushed his way. He took a mouthful, feeling it almost sticking in his throat with the tension inside him and then forced himself to meet Garner’s steady gaze. “We were on the third week of a search and destroy mission, trying to weed out a group of insurgents who were targeting foreign troops and also the minority Sunni Muslims. We were close, knew they were planning something else, thought they were going to try and take out Major Cruis’ unit as they moved up through the lowlands…”

____________________

“Mornin’ Face… Come on buddy, rise and shine, up an’ at ‘em!” 

When Face groggily opened his eyes he was, at first, confused by the blackness around him, and then he remembered and had to fight back the groan of disappointed he felt trying to surface. This mission was proving to be one of the longest yet and Face was thoroughly fed up of it all; fed up of rising at 0400 hours every morning, of sleeping on the rocky ground, of MREs and stinking like a pig, of not seeing his kids or having sex with Hannibal in weeks and of the fact that these bastards they’d been sent out to neutralise just kept on being one step ahead of them every damn day. And he knew that the rest of the team were just as fed up of it all as he was.

“Maybe today, hey?” Murdock offered as he shuffled out of Face’s vision and into the surrounding darkness. “Maybe today we’ll get to go home.”

Face doubted it – why would their current run of bad luck end today? The way things were going he’d be lucky to be home for Christmas and that was nine weeks away. “What time is it?” he asked as he hauled his aching bones up off the ground. He’d done the graveyard watch overnight and it felt like he’d only been asleep for five minutes since. 

“Three minutes past,” Murdock handed Face a steaming cup, “Hannibal said to get you up at 0400, but I let you have a sleep-in.”

“You’re too kind,” Face winced as he sipped his drink, realising it was nothing but water. “Boss on watch?”

“Yeah.”

“BA?”

“Pissing.”

“Right.”

That was what Face wanted to do as well, in fact he wanted something a lot more substantial than a piss, but he was so fed up of crapping in holes in the ground that he decided to wait, just on the off chance that they could get the job done and head back to the base tonight. “Never thought I’d miss the FOB,” he muttered and heard Murdock’s dry laugh of agreement.

Footsteps crunching on the loose rocks had them both falling silent and Face knew that Murdock would be reaching for his sidearm just like Face himself was but the deep voice sounding out of the darkness soothed them both. “It’s me. You up, Face?”

“Of course,” Face scrubbed through his beard. “Me and Murdock are going down for breakfast on the terrace any minute.”

“Peterson’s called in.”

Face’s ears pricked up at the sound of their intel officer. “And?”

“He thinks he’s got them this time, knows exactly where they’re gonna be.”

Shaking his head, Face threw the last of his drink away; it wasn’t like they hadn’t heard that before, about a million times. 

“There’s a patrol heading our way, 40th infantry-”

“Flaming assholes,” Murdock muttered, ignored by the other two.

“Major Cruis, Rom Cruis, you know him?”

Face shook his head again. 

“Me neither. Anyway, they’re heading this way on a bit of a hearts and minds sweep and Peterson reckons our boys are going to try and take them out in a little settlement called Bakhitma sometime today.”

Face thought about that in silence while Murdock rustled through the maps. “Here boss,” he loomed out of the darkness at Hannibal's shoulder. “It’s just there, just over that rise to the north. We should be able to yomp there in a couple of hours.”

Oh good, Face thought darkly, yomping. My favourite.

“Okay then,” Hannibal's voice had that decisive edge to it that usually gave Face goose bumps, but today it just felt a little off. “We need to break camp in five. I want to be in Bakhitma well before Cruis and his boys. I think we’ll need to-”

“No.”

The silence was thick and complete following Face’s interruption and Murdock froze almost comically in mid-step on his way to fetch BA.

No one moved, no one even breathed until Hannibal's voice, mild enough in the circumstances, sounded out through the void. “Problem Lieutenant?”

“Absolutely,” Face was scratching at his itchy beard once more. “Three weeks we’ve been following Rassam and not once has he tried to take on something as big as attacking an entire armed unit.”

“Maybe he’s escalating,” Hannibal’s voice was still mild.

“Still no,” Face shifted anxiously. “Deep down, he’s chicken shit, we know that right? He’d never do this, never put himself right in the thick of it. It’s just not his style.”

“But he’s been getting cocky, knows he’s leading us a dance. Perhaps he’s starting to believe his own press.” 

“I still don’t think so,” the problem was though, even Face himself didn’t really know why this didn’t sit right with him. “It’s not his MO. And he doesn’t have the fire power to take anyone on directly.”

“Face is right there, Hannibal,” Murdock’s voice was low. “We know explosives are far more his style.” He paused for a moment in thought. “Maybe it’s an IED?”

“He doesn’t have that skill. Unless he’s got a new recruit.” Face wished he could offer something more than a niggle in the back of his skull that this just was not right. 

Silence fell once more whilst Hannibal mulled it over, his sigh alerting the rest of the team to his decision. “Thing is though, how can we make that call? Knowing what we do now, how can we not go? How can we leave Cruis to the fates like that?”

“Call it in. Get him to go elsewhere.”

Hannibal chuckled, “And miss the chance to bag Rassam? Even if it’s only the slimmest of chances? Come on kid, you know that’s not why we’re here. Go get BA,” Face knew from the change of tone that the argument was over. “We bug out in five.”

He couldn’t shift the niggles though, and was a little irritated that Hannibal wasn’t really listening to him. Even the fingers trailed lightly over his ass as Hannibal passed him by couldn’t make up for his unease as he headed out into the dark to try and find BA. 

____________________

The sun was still high enough in the sky to be intolerably hot, even as it slowly, slowly made its way through the sky, arcing towards the distant mountain in the west. Face was glad of his scarf as he felt the heat on the back of his neck – he liked to tan, but spending the day laid on the concrete roof of an Iraqi coffee house was hardly Venice Beach. 

“You want some more water?” It had been a long, boring, uncomfortable day, not helped by the fact that Face still did not believe that Rassam would attack an infantry unit head on, but Murdock had stayed at his side, kept him fed on the last of their meagre rations and watered from a sun-heated canteen and for that at least he was grateful. 

“No thanks, buddy.” Any more and he’d need to pee. He tugged a corner of scarf up and wiped away the sweat that was gathering above his eye brows as he kept his gaze fixed intently into the scope of his rifle. 

“You see anything?”

He saw lots of things, it was a busy settlement after all and from their carefully chosen vantage point he had a good view up and down the main street. Nothing looked out of the ordinary though; a group of women making their way back from the bakers, a boy herding a few goats, three elderly men sitting in the shade outside the coffee house, stray dogs picking their way through the gutters, a handful of children playing in the road, the Imam making his way down the road towards the Mosque for afternoon prayers. It had been like that all day, with nothing at all to suggest that Rassam was planning a big move. He shifted slightly, “Nah.”

Murdock sighed. “You think he’s even here?”

Did he? Maybe. This was a Sunni settlement after all and Rassam had targeted more of those than the US troops out here. But everywhere he’d hit before had been a fairly major town, a bomb in a crowded market place, a suicide bomber on a bus. Mass causalities and mass impact, that was the way he’d been working; there seemed to be little to be gained in attacking this quiet little backwater. Even less than going head to head with Cruis. “I don’t know. Could have come in with that group this morning, I suppose.” At about eleven, four men walked in from the northern side of the village, but wrapped up as they were in robes, identification had been impossible. 

“You think Cruis is going to come right into the village?”

Face was stopped from answering as the call to prayer sounded out from the loud speakers on top of the minaret, making him jump for the third time that day. He cursed his nerves and forced himself to settle back at the scope, watching as doors opened and the men at the coffee house stirred themselves for the walk up to the Mosque. “Well, if he is, he’s picked a bad time; everyone’s going to be busy.” Even now there was a steady stream of worshippers heading quietly up the dusty road. 

“Bossman?” Murdock’s voice now sounded in his earpiece. “How close are Cruis and his boys now?” Hannibal had called in half an hour ago with the news that he and BA could see the infantry unit making their way steadily towards Bakhitma. 

“Almost here,” but it was BA that answered. “Cruis is yapping to some goat man in a field at the east end.”

Murdock signed off and Face nervously chewed his lip as he restrained himself from swinging the rifle’s sights out of town and trying to spot Hannibal. He hated being separated like this on a job. Hated not knowing where the rest of his team were, if they were alright, if they needed him, if they were in danger. If anything ever happened to Hannibal, or BA either for that matter, when Face hadn’t been there to support them… well, he didn’t know how he’d ever be able to live with himself. 

The streets were already emptying, the Mosque doors had swung shut and the loudspeakers fallen silent. Face shifted a little and trained his rifle on the shuttered windows and closed up doors of the street, the high magnification picking out every mark on the dusty walls, every chip in the paintwork. In the relative quiet of prayers, the tiniest of sounds reached his ears, a squeaking door maybe and he swung his gun back to the west, squinting against the sun as he spotted the open door and the figures hovering on the step. 

The first was a boy, maybe early teens, maybe younger, wearing a loose fitting robe over the more usual tunic. He appeared to be distressed, crying even and Face zeroed in on him, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling in warning of something he couldn’t place. “Hannibal, dwelling at the far east of the village, main road, you got eyes?”

There was a pause and then, “Negative.”

Face sighed and squinted into his sights once more. “Murdock, you see it? House at the left, door’s open?”

There was a minute as Murdock adjusted his binoculars and then, “I think so, but Face, that’s just a kid.”

There was a man as well though and that was odd as all the other men were at prayers. He seemed to be pretty pissed as well, tugging on the boy’s robes, trying to close them even as his mouth moved in an obvious tirade. It was too dark in the house for Face to make him out properly but the whole situation made him uneasy. “Boss, I got a kid in a house, boy, about ten. He’s pretty upset about something. And a guy. Can’t make him out but he seems about thirty, black beard, trousers and a jacket,” and that was odd as well – everyone else they’d seen that day had been in more traditional dress. 

“You think it’s Rassam?”

Face couldn’t tell, it was just too dark. “Maybe. He’s pushing the kid around now, trying to get him out the door.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to go to church…” Murdock whispered at his side. 

Then everything changed so fast Face couldn’t even report it in as it happened. A woman appeared behind the man in the doorway reaching for the boy who in turn reached for her. As quickly as she had materialised though, she was gone again, hauled back into the darkness by an unseen hand and the man with the beard lashed out, striking the boy across the face and making him stumble into the street. For the briefest of seconds his loose robe fell open and Face’s stomach tightened in fear, his finger already on the trigger of his rifle even as his mouth finally sprang into action.

“The kid’s wired Hannibal, they’ve packed him with explosives. You see it Murdock? Did you see under his robe?”

“Yeah… maybe. There was something grey and bulky there for sure.”

“It’s a suicide jacket.” Face had seen enough of them through the lens of his rifle over the years to be absolutely sure. “I think they’re holding his family, he’s heading up the street now, west to east.”

He could hear Hannibal moving in his earpiece, “We’re heading out to warn Cruis now, he’s just started into the east of the village. Keep an eye on the kid.”

The boy was running now, sobbing as he stumbled up the road on bare feet the weight of the explosives strapped to his chest making him unsteady and Face tracked him with his rifle sights, his hands firm even as his heart pounded hard against his ribs. 

“That’s what Rassam was planning? To blow Cruis’ boys up?” Murdock’s voice was low, urgent.

Face thought about that, his finger on the trigger of his rifle, his eye against the sight. “No…” he was almost talking to himself. “They wouldn’t get close enough before someone rumbled them. No one would miss those explosives up close.”

He watched the boy stumble again then keep heading straight on when he should have been turning left if he was heading for Cruis. Straight on… straight on… and then it hit Face with the force of a thundering train. “He’s heading for the Mosque! God damn it Hannibal, they’re gonna blow the Mosque!” There must have been over a hundred people in there now, the sounds of their prayers drifting out on the afternoon breeze. “I need a green light here, boss! You got eyes?”

There was the sound of running in his ear piece then a terse, “No, you gotta hold.”

“I can’t hold!” the boy was almost at the steps now, almost close enough to bring it down anyway. “I need something now! He’s going to the steps, almost there, I swear, they’re gonna blow the whole fucking thing! I need something!”

There was a silence, then a muffled curse and then, “Your call.”

“Face don’t!” Murdock’s voice was at his ear, but his eyes were on the boy as he stumbled up the first step, tears flowing down his face as he tripped and scrambled back up again.

Your call. His call. His choice. His decision. His intel. His guilt either way. 

He steadied himself, blew out long and slow, and pulled the trigger.

It was a perfect shot, just as he planned it. The bullet struck Yousef Abdul Abdulla in the back of the head, killing him instantly and spraying the steps of the Mosque in red blood. He fell like a limp doll, Face watched it through his eye piece; watched him crumble, dead before he hit the ground, his hands loose at his sides, his bare feet dusty and scraped. An eerie silence fell, broken only by the forlorn bleating of a single goat. Murdock was saying something, his voice low and urgent and Hannibal was shouting in his ear, demanding an update but Face just dropped his gun, scrambled to his feet and violently threw up his meagre lunch as the image of the dead boy – the boy who had been exactly the same age as his own darling Sophia – burned itself relentlessly into his retinas. 

____________________

The office fell silent as Face stood and stared at the walls, still seeing that image of Yousef as he lay at the foot of the Mosque steps, he wondered if he’d ever not see it, every time he closed his eyes.

Eventually Colonel Garner cleared his throat. “Please make it clear, just for the record, Lieutenant Peck, your justification for killing Yousef Abdul Abdulla.”

Face glanced his way and was surprised to find him blurred. He blinked hard and straightened his stance a little. “I deemed that there was hostile intent in the boy entering the Mosque, sir. I appealed to my Commander for a course of action, as per Rules of Engagement and he advised I made my own decision based on the evidence I had seen.”

“You really felt that a child would blow himself up in his own community’s Mosque?”

“No. I felt that the charges were remotely controlled and that Rassam would do that as soon as the boy entered the building.”

“Was there ever any absolute evidence, after the event, that Rassam was in Bakhitma that day?”

“No, sir, although that’s what our intel had told us. And when someone went to get the boy’s mother, she was found dead in her house. Her throat had been cut.”

“Have you ever known intel to be inaccurate?”

Beat. “Yes, sir.”

“And you maintain that the boy was wearing an explosive vest?”

Face looked him right in the eye. “I do, sir, yes.” 

“So…” Garner returned his look as he leaned back in his seat. “Why was it that when Major Cruis arrived on scene just a few moments after you killed the boy, there was no sign of any explosive at all?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“You weren’t watching?”

“I wasn’t.”

There was a moment’s silence. “How many confirmed kills have you got, Lieutenant? Long range?”

Face cleared his throat. “Eighty four, sir.”

“And do you always vomit afterwards?”

“No.”

“So….? What?” Garner leaned over his desk, his fingers laced together, his eyes boring into Face. “Why this time?”

Clearing his throat again, Face made sure to hold his eyes. “Because I’d killed a child, sir. A boy the same age as my daughter. Shot him in the back of the head as he ran up the street.” The room was silent. “I did it to save the lives of every person in that Mosque and I believe it was the right thing to do in the circumstances. Doesn’t mean I liked it though, sir, doesn’t mean I don’t hate myself every day for what I did to that little boy.”

Garner eyed him carefully. “I hear you’re quite the shot. A legend at the range here.” Face didn’t answer. “You meant to kill that boy?”

“I did.”

“You couldn’t just immobilise him? Stop him getting to the Mosque if you genuinely thought he was a danger?”

“No, sir. It’s a powerful rifle. Any shot from that distance would have killed him as far from medical help as he was. I felt it was best for any death to be quick and painless rather than draw out his pain and fear for hours. Days even.”

Garner studied him carefully. “You decided all that? In those few seconds he was running up the road?”

“I did, sir. It’s what I get paid to do.”

Another long stare and then Garner sighed. “Peck… you’re a good soldier. Your commanders speak very highly of you, but let’s face the facts here. You were in a difficult situation, in a hostile environment and you made a mistake. Your weapon went off accidently, you picked the wrong target in a confusing situation,” he shrugged. “Whatever. It happens. You need to be straight with us here, stop persisting with this fantasy and tell us how you accidently killed that boy.”

Face held his eyes. “It was no accident - I meant to kill him, sir. He was wired up, there was going to be a massacre in that Mosque.”

Garner shook his head and folded his arms. “Okay then, well, that’s me done.” He turned to the counsel for the Army. “You have any questions, Jacobson?”

Captain Jeff Jacobson rose to his feet, a sheaf of papers in his hand. “I do, sir, yes.” 

Face swallowed again and braced himself.

________________________

Out of the window, in the courtyard below, Face could hear the hum of the lunch rush. Happy voices braving the cold to walk to the mess, discussing their plans for the holiday, their last minutes tasks, how many hours until their leave started. He knew that by now, Momma and BA would have set off on their journey into Atlanta, taking the kids to the Christmas Extravaganza at the Fabulous Fox and the excitement of an overnight stay, but he was as far from the spirit of Christmas as he possibly could be. 

It wasn’t going well. Jacobson had tried to poke holes in everything Face had said about the shooting, he’d questioned his temperament, his skill, even his motive for becoming a sharpshooter in the first place. Face had stood his ground, held his composure as much as he possibly could – he’d come a long way from his hot-headed youth, but it had been hard and he could feel Garner’s frown deepening with every thinly veiled accusation that Jacobson had thrown his way.

Hannibal had been next. He’d stood straight and tall and answered his questions in a calm and imposing manner. His words had been accurate, his praise and belief in Face’s version of events solid and reliable. But nothing he’d said had offered any proof at all that Face was telling the truth. Face had known it would be like that, had expected nothing else, knew that Hannibal hadn’t been in sight when Face had made the shot, but still, it was a crushing blow.

He’d sat in silence and listened, eyes on his beloved’s face the entire time, the face he’d not seen in the flesh for weeks and weeks and weeks, ever since Hannibal had moved out. He was listening to the words and how Hannibal was doing his best to help him out even though he had no facts at his disposal that Jacobson or Garner would be interested in. But more than that, he was waiting for a look, just one single glance in his direction, possibly the only chance he would have to say goodbye if things played out the way they were heading and he ended up being arrested at the close of the day, carted off to the cells to await his court martial and eventual dismissal and jail term. 

But Hannibal resolutely kept his eyes on Garner, on Jacobson, on Morrow when Face’s own Counsel made a vain attempt to get Hannibal to say that he’d seen the explosives himself. He never once let his icy gaze flick Face’s way, not once, not until he was excused from the room at the end of his evidence. For a moment he wavered and Face hoped he was going to ask to remain present – he could, as Face’s CO he had that right – but then he saluted instead and turned on his heel, one quick glance, his eyes full of anguish and regret, all Face had until the dark wooden doors swung closed behind him and his footsteps echoed forlornly down the corridor and into silence. 

Murdock was next and he did well, held himself up pretty convincingly as Jacobson spent more time querying his mental health and his fifteen years of friendship with Face than he did actually talking about what Murdock had seen that day. Morrow was better, concentrating on the events of October twenty seventh rather than any time before that but still, when he asked the question, “Are you absolutely positive, Captain, that it was explosives that the child was carrying under his robes?” the minute pause, just before the answer of, “Yes, sir,” was enough to have Garner frantically scribbling on his pad and Face’s heart thudding down into his ridiculously shiny shoes. 

Then it was over, for Murdock at any rate. At Face’s insistence, he was driving up to Atlanta with the others for the show and he offered Face a nod and a bright, hollow smile as he slipped out of the room and away into the December morning and Face was left in little doubt as to the shock that would be awaiting his children when they returned home tomorrow afternoon. 

But they still had people to talk to, Face had hours of this torture left and so he waited, his expression calm and composed as a very pissed-off looking Major Rom Cruis entered the room. Garner shuffled his notes, told the minute taker that they would be breaking for lunch just as soon as they were done with Cruis and finally shifted his gaze to the man standing to attention in the middle of the room. 

“At ease, Major. Thank you for your attendance here today.”

Cruis nodded tersely and Face wondered what he’d been dragged from by Morrow’s last minute request for his presence. 

“Perhaps you’d like to start off by letting us know the sequence of events, as they happened, that lead up to Yousef Abul Abdulla’s death on October twenty seventh of this year?”

Cruis puffed himself up importantly and threw a sideways glance at Face before nodding at Garner and starting his recount. “Of course, sir. It was around 1630 and he were headed, on foot, into Bakhitma in order to meet with the local Imam and other community leaders…”

_________________________

The shadows were lengthening in perfect synchronicity with Cruis’ annoyance at the way that this whole day was panning out. It had been bad enough to be given such a shit detail in the first place, even worse that they were expected to get around on foot when attacks on US troops were only increasing, but then to turn up at the final call of the day just as the damn prayer call was starting again – he knew they’d be lucky to be finished in time for their ride home. 

A shout at the front of his position caught his attention and pulled it away from his bitter musings and he frowned at the sight of two US Army Rangers headed his way. “Hold your fire,” he instructed his troops and his frown only deepened when he saw who the first Ranger was. 

Hannibal Smith was some kind of legend in the US Army. A demi-god who not only managed to pull off impossible and ludicrous missions with the ease of a Hollywood blockbuster, but he also had a reputation for being a man of the common soldier, always willing to give problem cases a chance, always ready to pick the worst offender up off the floor and buff them into polished and decorated warriors. Offenders like his current accomplice; from days long gone now, Cruis was well acquainted with BA Baracus – especially his right fist. 

His eyes narrowed as he heard his men whispering Smith’s name in awed voices and he carefully schooled his expression into unimpressed. 

“Major Cruis?” Smith stalked towards him, looking every inch like he owned the whole god-damned earth. “You’re walking into a situation here.”

“A situation?” Cruis’ annoyance was deepening by the second. What the fuck did Smith think he was doing even being in this particular shit-hole? The one that Cruis had hiked two hours to get to? It was fucking typical that he should be here, no doubt in the middle of some glamorous and world-saving mission whilst Cruis was spending his days trawling through the dirt and drinking piss-tasting tea with the local big-wigs. “I think I’m best placed to decide what’s a situation and what’s not.”

And then it was plainly clear that that bastard Smith wasn’t even listening to him, he had one finger pressed against the ear piece moulded into his ear and was spinning away again the words, “No, you gotta hold,” clear even though they weren’t directed at Cruis himself. 

“You aint, sucka,” and that, incredibly, was Baracus. Where in fuck’s name did he get off speaking to an officer like that? “We are, and you better get your boys wising up here or you’ll all be sittin’ ducks!”

The men behind him snapped into action, readying their weapons, dropping to their knees and scanning the surrounding areas in a reaction to Baracus’ words that morphed Cruis’ annoyance into a seething anger. “Look, corporal,” he hissed, stepping forward. “No one gets to tell me how to run my-”

His words were stolen by the sharp crack of a weapon echoing through the relative quiet of the afternoon. Everyone dropped to the ground, Baracus spinning over to shield Smith who was crouched on one knee, finger over his ear still even as he almost shouted into his comm unit. “Face? Kid? Report! Lieutenant? What the fuck just happened?”

At Cruis’ signal, his men split off, left and right and started tracking the outside of the northern side of the village whilst Cruis himself advanced on Smith and Baracus. “Who opened fire?” he hissed. “That one of your men? This is a civilian area don’t you know?!”

Smith was ignoring him, still frantically trying to get an answer out of his unit and Cruis shook his head, that’s what you got for insisting on running around with dead-beats. 

A scream rent the air, coming from the direction of the Mosque and instantly Cruis was on his feet heading over, weapon drawn, as the heavy Mosque doors opened a steady stream of people started spilling out, more screams, wails, and shouts adding to the chaos. Leaving Smith and Baracus in his wake, Cruis jogged over to the howling throng, pushing them roughly aside, waving his weapon at anyone who had the nerve to even look at him wrongly, until he was right at the front of the crowd and his eyes flicked to the ground. 

Two women in traditional dress were kneeling in the dirt, tears on their faces, words of prayer spilling from them as their hands fluttered uselessly over the dead body of a child. He was dead for sure, that much was painfully obvious as the back of his head had disintegrated with the force of the bullet and Cruis frowned – such an injury must have been caused by a powerful weapon, the types of weapon currently used by no-one but the US Army. 

He turned on his heel and started pushing back through the crowd, calling his troops as he did so. “Get back in here, you lot, now. In front of the Mosque. Clear these people but don’t touch the body.” He didn’t wait for an answer, knew his men would do as they were ordered, and instead stormed up to Smith just as he and Baracus drew around the back of the crowd. 

“Did one of your men shoot that boy?” he snapped but Smith just ignored him, instead calling out to the crowd in smooth Arabic, or Kurdish, Cruis wasn’t sure, before finally turning back to the major, completely ignoring the question he’d been asked. 

“Get this area cleared,” he barked and Cruis had to restrain himself from snapping to attention, “That boy’s carrying explosives.”

Both Rangers vanished at that, up the street away from the Mosque at a run and Cruis frowned, he’d certainly not noticed any explosives when he’d glanced at the child. But then the wailing and the blood and brain matter had drawn his attention… He turned to where his men were effectively moving the crowd back away from the twisted body on the ground and headed back, ignoring the shouts and the wails and the gore to drop to his knees and cautiously poke through the kid’s clothing, patting his skinny frame down and frowning – there were no explosives there for sure. Slowly he rose to his feet and shouted over to one of his men, “Sergeant? Bring me that camera. Now.”

He was going to make sure that Smith was going to handle this FUBAR right, and if he didn’t, if he didn’t make sure he hauled his Lieutenant’s ass over the coals for this fatal transgression, then Cruis himself would do it, and hopefully knock Smith down a peg or two at the same time. 

_______________________________

“Thank you, Major.” Face stared down at his clasped hands as Garner shuffled his notes and frowned up at a smug looking Cruis. “There’s just a few points I would like to clarify here before we move on.” The assembled officers waited in silence until the deep voice sounded once more. “Did you see the deceased before he was struck by the fatal shot?”

“No, sir.”

“And when you did see him, the local population had gotten to him first?”

“That’s right, sir, yes.”

“Okay, thank you. That’s all I need. Captain Morrow?”

Morrow didn’t answer at first, didn’t even shift and Face let his eyes drift sideways, wondering if the man had actually fallen asleep. He was staring at Cruis though, his head cocked to one side, considering, or maybe just wanting to give the appearance of considering, making Cruis sweat or play for time in his head, Face wasn’t at all sure. Eventually he stirred himself, leaning forward in his seat, eyes boring into Cruis across the room. 

“How many people would you say, reached the boy’s body before you did, Major Cruis?”

It was obvious the way that this was going and Cruis’ narrowed eyes told Face that he’d worked it out as well. “I don’t know, maybe thirty, fifty, but-”

“And any one of those people could have taken the explosives then, couldn’t they? Before you saw them?”

“They could, but-”

“Thank you,” Morrow’s eyes fell on Garner. “I’m finished, now sir.”

Cruis was steaming and Face had to fight to supress a smirk at the sight. But the counsel for the Army, Jacobson, was on his feet in an instant, all ready to fight Cruis’ corner. “In your expert opinion, Major Cruis, did any of those people have the time to take the explosives from the child’s body?”

Cruis shifted awkwardly. “The time, possibly. The motive, no.”

“Could you explain yourself a little more, please?”

“These people are of Kurdish decent. They have long been the victims of Islamic extremists and they are the ones who continuously ask for protection from the US Army. To move those explosives, they would effectively be framing those sent to protect them and also missing out on a chance to prove how real and horrific the threat to them from the extremists really is. They wouldn’t do it, Peck’s unlawful killing of that boy will have damaged much more than one life – the implications will be felt politically for months, years even.”

“Let’s not forget that nothing has been proved against the Lieutenant, yet, Major.” This was Garner and Face was mildly irritated that it wasn’t Morrow that had been defending him. “We are here simply to collect some facts and decide on a way forward.”

“Of course, sir, but there were no explosive, no justification for the killing and no reason at all for those people to want to cover up the use of one of their children as a weapon against them.”

“In your opinion,” at last Morrow entered the fray and Face was pleased to see the irritation in his eyes. 

“Of course.”

The room slid into silence for a moment and then Jacobson spoke again. “And what of your men, Major Cruis, how many did you have with you in Bakhitma that day?”

“Twelve.”

“And did any of them see any sign of the explosives at all?”

“No,” Face’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. “Not at all.”

“Thank you, I’m finished.”

_____________________

Face stared at his uneaten pasta, prodding it around his plate as Morrow flicked backward and forward through his notes. “I think we can maybe push this element of doubt about the explosives at the Court Martial,” it was depressing that there seemed to be no doubt in Morrow’s mind that this was the way things were headed. “There’s enough there for reasonable doubt, I’m sure.”

Face didn’t answer.

“If Cruis himself is admitting that there might have been up to fifty people contaminating the scene before he got there, then anything could have happened.”

“Cruis is right though,” giving up at the thought of eating, Face pushed his plate away. “Those people wouldn’t want it hiding if they thought the militants were using their kids as walking bombs; they didn’t take those explosives.”

Morrow rounded on him, “That’s not helpful, I’m trying to save your ass here!”

“It’s fucking true though.”

“Where did those explosives go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Were they even there?”

Face turned, his eyes furious, “I thought we’d covered that already? What the hell is the point of this if even you don’t believe me?”

Morrow leaned over the table. “I’m not here to believe you, Lieutenant. I’m here to try and make your punishment as light as I possibly can. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re lying or not, as long as you are consistent and don’t make me look like an ass in front of Garner!”

“Punishment?” Face’s voice was a low hiss. “I haven’t done anything wrong, you prick! I shot that boy to save the others. There were explosives under his coat and Cruis was right – there is nothing to be gained by any of those villagers trying to cover up what Rassam had planned for them!”

“So, the fucking fairies just took the explosives away did they? How the hell am I supposed to get Garner to believe any of that shit?”

Face pinned him with his eyes. “I don’t know. That’s your job not mine. I held up my side of the deal and I protected the people I was there to protect. Now you do yours, stop being such a pathetic ass-wipe and find a way for them to see what really happened!”

There was a screech of chair legs on wood as Morrow pushed up from his seat. “I’m going to the rest room. You’d better start thinking who you want to represent you at the Court Martial as it sure as fuck won’t be me.”

He stalked from the room at that and Face was left staring at his hands as he fought back the urge to climb out of the window and run.

______________________________

Six of Cruis’ men were as depressingly consistent in their evidence as Cruis himself had been and Face wondered why Jacobson even bothered to call so many of them to provide their accounts of the day. There was only one more account to hear now, Captain Jim Barker who worked in intel and would no doubt agree with Cruis’ view that the local people would have nothing at all to gain in covering up evidence of a planned extremist atrocity against them. Face knew he’d say that, as it was true, he himself believed it implicitly, just as he believed he was right in knowing that he’d seen explosives under Yousef’s robes. He had no idea where they’d gone, no idea why he’d ended up in the mess he was in now, but he knew he was right in what he’d seen.

Not that that would help him at all. In maybe an hour they would be done and the recommendation would be made that Face should attend a Court Martial in the New Year. He would be arrested and formally charged with unlawful killing. If he was lucky, they’d let him out on bail, if not he’d head off to the cells to spend Christmas away from his kids for the very first time; his stomach roiled unpleasantly in its emptiness. 

They were waiting for Barker to arrive and the knock at the door sounded like a death knell. Face drew himself up to face this latest nail in his professional coffin, but it wasn’t Barker who entered but the Corporal who’d been attending the door all day. 

“Excuse me, sir,” he nodded at Garner as he snapped to attention. “Message for Captain Morrow.”

“Proceed.”

The Corporal marched smartly across the room and handed Morrow a large manila envelope before saluting and marching back out into the corridor. He was instantly replaced by Barker who shrugged apologetically at Face before starting on his assessment of the political situation in that region of Iraq as Morrow silently leafed through the contents of his package.

_______________

“Thank you, Captain Barker, that will be all.” Barker nodded at Face as he left the room and Face braced himself for what was to come. It was starting to get dark now, the fairy lights across the base lighting up as people made their way home for a few days of holiday cheer. A fatalistic calm spread through him and he was glad that he’d made Murdock go to Atlanta, glad he’d kept his kids in the dark about what he was facing this day, glad that Hannibal was wherever the hell he was right now so that he could confront this alone; it would be easier to hold himself together if he wasn’t with anyone he cared about, anyone he’d miss during however long he was away.

Garner was conversing quietly with one of his team and Face glanced at Morrow at his side, only to find him still flicking through the contents of his package, a frown on his face and he wondered if it was bad news about his plans for the holiday break, found it hard to dredge up any sympathy if that was the case.

The conversation at Garner’s table was over and he cleared his throat, Face’s heart thumping hard in his chest in response and finally Morrow surfaced. “Sir?”

Garner glanced over, a frown on his brow, “Captain?”

“I have one more account I’d like heard if you will allow it? Corporal Hank Allison, 1st Battalion Army Field Support Brigade.”

Face turned and stared at the side of Morrow’s head; he’d never heard of Hank Allison, and the Battalion hadn’t been anywhere near them at the time of the operation, or at any time come to think of that. Garner looked at Morrow for a moment, glanced at Jacobson who shrugged and then turned back to the counsel. “This is very irregular.”

“I apologise. New information has just come to my attention.”

There was another quick glance around the room and then Garner nodded. “Alright. Is he available now?”

Morrow looked far from sure. “I believe so, yes, if the Private would like to go and call him.”

Garner nodded at the silent Private at attention at the side of the doorway and he slipped out, Face taking the opportunity to lean over and hiss, “What’s going on?” but Morrow only waved him silent, eyes still fixed on the sheaves of paper in front of him. 

Within minutes, the Private was back, sliding onto his place next to the door as a young soldier in smart class As shuffled in, hair buzzed to perfection, ruddy complexion revealing his recent time on deployment, anxious eyes flicking cautiously around the room. 

“Corporal…”

“Allison,” Morrow supplied. 

“Allison, yes, thank you. At ease.” Allison complied, but looked anything but easy as Garner jotted his name down into his notes. “Would you please tell us your version on the events that led up to the death of Yousef Abdul Abdulla?”

The Corporal frowned and shuffled nervously, “I’m not sure I can, sir,” he offered in a low Southern drawl. “I wasn’t there.” Garner frowned and looked at Morrow who flushed a deep red. “I think the Captain wanted me to tell you about this…” 

He took a step forward, towards Morrow, then stopped, unsure until Garner waved him onwards, “Get on with it, son.” Face wondered if Garner had a Christmas party to get to. 

Allison strode over to the desk and leafed through Morrow’s pack, coming up with a photograph that had Face’s eyes narrowing in interest.

“This, sir,” he held it up for Garner to see. “I was the one who found it, sir. I think that’s what the Captain wants me to tell you about.”

Garner gestured for the photograph and studied it in silence for a moment before nodding back to Morrow. “That right, Captain?”

“Yes, sir.” Morrow did a reasonable job of looking like he knew what he was doing at this point. 

“Come on then, let’s hear it.”

Allison took a deep breath and steadied himself, staring the wall above Garner’s head as he spoke. “It was November the first, about thirteen hundred hours and we were on duty at a checkpoint on the way into Baghdad, roadblock, checking vehicles as they came in…”

______________________

It was the hottest part of the day and Hank winced at the way his sweat soaked underwear was clinging to his body under his BDUs and body armour. He had four more hours of this before he could go and strip off, maybe even get chance for a dunk in the improvised pool they’d set up on the base to cool down a little; it would be the closest he’d come to freshening up before he went home in March which was depressing in itself. 

He squinted as the sun reflected off the shiny metal bumper of the next car rolling up to the road block and waited for instructions as Sergeant Palmer waved the driver over. It was a dusty and beaten up Dacia, dented and scratched, with only one occupant, a poorly dressed male, aged about thirty who looked a little jumpy and stressed and had obviously caught Palmer’s eye as he’d tried to slip by unnoticed. 

Palmer and the interpreter stepped forward and Hank made sure his gun was ready to go, although if there were explosives in the trunk, he’d probably not get chance to fire his weapon before he was blown to bits. The conversation at the barrier was tense, and the driver was definitely edgy and it came as no surprise when the shout came over to Hanks position. “Ali, search it, Jacko, watch his back.”

A double chorus of, “Yes, boss!” came from the two Corporals and Hank stepped forward, giving the rear seats a quick, cursory glance for starters before heading to pop the trunk. His fingers ghosted over the catch, and Hank glanced backwards, made sure that Jacko was ready to cover him and took a deep breath. This was one of the things he hated about his job, the uncertainty of what he was about to do, the concern as to what he’d find when the lid swung open. He’d never found anything of note himself, not in the ten weeks he’d been doing this so far, but he’d heard the stories. Some guys had found IUDs, some plastic explosives or shells. Once it was gold bullion, another time a live sheep – there had even been stories that a smiling Grandma on her way to visit her brother had been uncovered in the trunk one evening just outside the capital, so Hank really had no idea what he’d find when the lid swung open. 

In the end it took him a little while to work out what he was seeing and when the penny finally dropped, he was glad he’d paid attention in all his training sessions. He signalled Jacko over who whistled through his teeth and called it in, tugging Hank backwards even as the driver was dragged from his seat by the rest of their unit and bundled to the ground, shouting and struggling even as he was restrained.

By the time the experts arrived to sort the car out, Hank was shaking with the adrenalin rush and his shoulders were sore from all the pats and slaps he’d had for his very first find. It might not have been gold bullion, but it was still important – and at that time he had no idea just how very important it would end up being.

________________________

Garner’s frown was in evidence again as he stared at the photo in front of him. “You can be sure that this was worn by Yousef Abdul Abdulla?” he asked Allison briskly, and the Corporal paled slightly.

“I don’t know who wore it, sir,” he admitted. “All I know is that the guy in the car wanted to sell it, was taking it into Baghdad to try and get some money from it. I don’t know where it came from at all. Sir.” 

“There was blood on the vest,” Morrow quickly rose to his feet, looking more animated than Face had seen him all day. “You can see it in the photo.” Garner looked back at the glossy sheet in his hand. “I have DNA results in here which prove that the blood belonged to Yousef Abdul Abdulla. The man taken into custody was Maazin Al-Jamil who has family living in Bakhitma. He was visiting them the day that the boy was killed. His statement here,” Morrow waved a handwritten sheet of A4 paper, “says that he was in the street getting ready to leave and drive home when Yousef ran up towards the Mosque and was shot from behind. He saw the explosives and took them, thinking of the money they would bring him on the black market. It’s all here, sir, everything. He cut the straps holding the explosives in place and had just got into his car when the first of the worshippers left the Mosque. He was long gone by the time that Cruis arrived on scene.”

Face’s heart was pounding hard in his chest as Morrow finished his explanation. If this was true, if this was real… it would explain everything.

“Why have you only mentioned this now?” Garner’s voice was short even as he flicked through the pack of information that Morrow had provided him with.

“We’ve only just landed, sir.” It was Allison who answered. “Got into Lawson about an hour ago. I’m supposed to be in-country until March but was called back for this. I’m hoping to get to Houston before tomorrow night, sir. My momma and sisters will be mighty surprised to see me for Christmas I can tell you!” He looked up into Garner’s face at that and almost swallowed his tongue in the speed he stood to attention and silenced his words but Garner was far too busy being pissed at Morrow though to notice the Corporal’s transgression.

“How do we even know that any of this is accurate? How do we know that someone isn’t just playing with you here, giving you everything you could possibly want to get Peck off without checking any of the facts?”

Face glanced up at Morrow who was back to looking like a goldfish, and it was Allison again who answered him. “Begging your pardon, sir,” he saluted then, just for good measure. “But Colonel McKinley is my CO, sir. He’s flown back as well. He’s downstairs sir, if you want to call him. He’ll back up everything I’ve told you, all of it. And everything the Captain said as well, sir.”

Garner eyed Allison impassively until the Corporal was flushed bright red and then he let out a long sigh. “Morrow, Jacobson, my office please. We need to discuss this in private.” With that he snatched up the sheaf of papers and stalked outside, leaving Allison standing to attention in the centre of the room and Face, his stomach turning and bubbling, sitting stunned in his wake.

The silence stretched on for minutes. The assembled officers in the room avoided eye contact and just waited as the happy noises from outside drifted up to their ears, at complete odds to the sombre atmosphere in the room. Allison was the only person who actually looked more ill at ease than Face felt and he was glad he hadn’t had any pasta at lunch time for the fear that he might just have brought it all up over the table. 

He wondered what all this meant. Was it the proof that he’d been looking for? Not only the evidence that he wasn’t actually going crazy, but the justification that he’d been right to shoot the boy in the first place? He shuffled awkwardly, the urge to vomit only growing by the second, a nasty, clammy sweat standing out on his back and his neck. Then the door swung inwards and all three Judge Advocates stormed back in, each of their faces as dark as the next and Face’s stomach dropped into his shoes. He tried to make eye contact with Morrow who studiously blanked him, searched Garner’s face for a hint of his fate but there was nothing and then even studied Jacobson, who was only looking down at his notes, packing them methodically away into his briefcase.

“Corporal Allison?” Hank snapped to uber-attention, “Thank you for your time, you are dismissed.”

He was gone in double time, his shoes clicking across the wooden floor and then Garner’s eyes turned to Face who felt a fresh wave of nervous sweat break out down his spine. “Lieutenant Peck?” he was on his feet and at attention in a second, hands held ruthlessly still to stop them trembling against the seams of his trousers, his eyes fixed on the wall, his chin tilted defiantly. “In my opinion this entire process has been a huge waste of Army resources,” Face swallowed, hard. “The DNA tests are conclusive, Yousef Abdul Abdulla was killed whilst wearing an improvised explosive vest, the same vest that Corporal Allison discovered on its way to a black market in Baghdad. It seems that your assessment of the situation was correct, Lieutenant, and your actions that day probably saved the lives of those people in the Mosque.”

Face’s mind was swimming. Correct? Probably? So… what did that mean? It was over? He was free? But if that was right then why did everyone look so damn pissed?

Garner’s eyes still drilled into Face across the room and he clearly wasn’t finished with him yet. “Maybe if you’d followed procedures a little more closely, Lieutenant, and made sure that your mark was indeed neutralised instead of losing your composure at the last minute, you would have seen Maazin Al-Jamil take the vest and saved us all a lot of time.” Face flushed but held his eyes on the wall. “A sniper who can’t cope with killing isn’t a lot of use to anyone.” That was hardly fair, but Face let it go, it was a hell of a lot better than being accused of unlawful killing at any rate. 

“And you two,” Garner’s furious gaze swept across Jacobson and Morrow, “if either of you had done your jobs properly and looked more thoroughly into the Lieutenant’s claim that there had been a vest then I’m sure Maazin Al-Jamil’s involvement would have come to light a damn sight faster. Saved us all a wasted day.” 

A wasted day… it had been a hell of a lot more than that for Face. But at least he was sure now, Garner definitely had plans for the Holiday that had been disturbed by this hearing. 

Garner coughed to clear his voice and turned back to Face who rigidly held his position of attention. “Lieutenant Peck, I have no other option in this case but to clear you of any wrong-doing at all.” He turned to the minute taker, “And I would like it stated, very clearly, on his records that his actions that day certainly avoided a heavy loss of civilian life.” 

Face’s stomach was swirling again, in total relief this time, it was over, it was really, really over and he could go home to his kids.

“However,” or was it? “Given your reaction to this incident I am putting you back up for reselection in the New Year. You will have to prove from scratch that you are competent enough to take on the role of marksman for your unit, there is no room in this game for moments of weakness like the one you showed up on that roof.” Face held his tongue; asking Garner how many ten year olds he’d shot in the back of the head probably wouldn’t help his cause much. 

“Your suspension from duty is cancelled with immediate effect and I am transferring you back under the control of your Commanding Officer, Colonel Smith, who,” Garner glanced around the room, “seems to have had a little too much Christmas shopping to do to have been able to re-join us this afternoon.” Again Face flushed and his stomach swirled. “And with that I bring this Article 32 hearing to a close. Captain,” he glanced at Morrow, “please ensure that the Lieutenant signs everything he needs to. Thank you to everyone who has given their time to attend this circus today. Now, if you will excuse me, I have leave to start. Dismissed. And Happy Holiday.”

He got up and stalked from the room, quickly followed by the other assembled officers including Jacobson who seemed fairly resigned to the collapse of his potential charges. Face stood behind his desk, loosely at attention now, just trying to take it all in. The relief was monumental but there was no happiness to felt, too many things had happened to him for that, he was too raw, too betrayed. He turned to Morrow who was sorting paperwork at his side. “Believe me now?” It was petty and childish, but the need to strike out at someone was almost overpowering.

Morrow looked coolly up at him. “Sign these forms,” he responded flatly, “and we can be rid of each other for good.”

Suddenly deflated, Face sank back into his chair and started signing the pieces of paper pushed his way, scanning each one through to make sure that Morrow wasn’t trying to stiff him at the last hurdle. Then then were done and Morrow slid them all into his briefcase before rising to his feet, Face wearily following him, blinking in surprise at the hand that was extended out across the gap between their seats. 

“Congratulations,” Morrow’s voice was flat but Face appreciated the effort. “It seems that you won’t have ruined Christmas for your kids after all.” 

They shook tersely and Face stepped away. “Yeah. Thanks.” He resisted putting, ‘for fucking nothing’ on the end when he realised it was Morrow who’d eventually unearthed Allison and saved his bacon. “Merry Christmas.”

He stalked to the door, suddenly desperate to get home, but Morrow’s voice stopped him, just for a moment. “And for the record, I did believe you.” Shaking his head, Face walked out.

_____________________

It was cold in the parking lot, and almost deserted as Face reached his car. Most people must have got off early for the start of the holiday and he was glad that the kids were in Atlanta overnight as there wasn’t a single festive feeling in his entire body. 

It was over, and it was good news, but there was little else to be happy about. At the end of the day, Yousef was still dead, and Face had still killed him. His professional skills had been criticised, his entire specialism put into doubt. He’d been the talk of the base, and the next big humiliation to hit the army, accusations had been hurled at him that would never, ever go away and despite what Garner had said about his record, he felt dirty and stained. He’d had six weeks away from his job and his team, six weeks away from Hannibal and of course that was a whole other ball game.

He started the engine and slowly pulled out onto a side road as he wondered what the hell was going on with him and the Colonel. It had always seemed so straight forward before, Hannibal loved him, of that he’d been certain, and he loved Hannibal as well. Their family might have been unique, but it was also special, the most special thing in his entire existence. Was that over now? Was Hannibal appalled at what Face had done? Or was it just the smear of it all? Could Hannibal not run the risk of Face’s disciplinary process pulling him down as well?

Face could certainly understand that, felt sympathy for Hannibal in the way that Face’s actions had impacted on him. But he also felt betrayed, let down, suddenly doubting everything he thought he’d known about them.

Since the day his suspension had been ordered he had neither seen nor spoken to the most important person in his life, not as a CO, not as a friend and certainly not as a lover. Hannibal had been the only one of the four of them to keep doing something like their usual job whilst Face was suspended, Murdock and BA both drafted into training whilst Hannibal had spent more time out of the country than in it. Avoiding Face? Trying to distance himself from the flying shit? Making it easier on Face and the kids when their little family was forced to come to a premature end? 

Possibly. 

Probably. 

It was a shame, but it was always going to happen; one day Face had been destined to do something that would ruin the best relationship he’d ever had. He always did, with Charissa, his parents - he’d even do it to his kids someday as well, he was sure, and then he’d be left to die lonely and alone. He’d hated himself for the way that his eyes had searched for Hannibal in the darkness all the way from Garner’s office to the parking lot, but there was nothing to see, no Hannibal to see. Wherever he was, he wasn’t with Face and that’s all that mattered.

The house loomed out of the darkness, silent and obviously empty and Face’s chest tightened a little at the sight. He hardly ever saw it like this, it was always full of light and noise and love and now… He was still pleased the kids were in Atlanta, he needed time to parse what had happened today, what had happened back in October, and they, full of festive joy as they were, would not appreciate sharing that with him. 

He’d texted Sophia, on the phone that Charissa’s parents had bought her for her tenth birthday, contract and all, just a short, chatty text. She’d replied straight away, telling him they’d been shopping, out for dinner at the Hard Rock Café and were now on their way back to the hotel to change before the theatre. It warmed him a little, Sophia’s obvious happiness and the spelling mistakes, the way his friends loved his children almost as much as he did, but then the warmth all ran out again as he realised that this would hurt them as well, that if his relationship with Hannibal was over then the kids would lose their home, would lose the man who’d been a second parent to them, cared for them when Face couldn’t. 

His feet echoed on the wooden floor as he walked into the hall way and he sighed, wondering if Hannibal would let them stay until Face had found somewhere new or if they’d have to move into a hotel for a while first; Jonny at least would like that, he always enjoyed hotel breakfasts. He dropped his keys on the table at the side of the door and wandered aimlessly through the dark house to the kitchen at the back. The Christmas tree in the family room was dark and cast weird shapes in the glow of the street lamps. He could still smell it, though, the faint hint of Christmas taking him back to his own childhood and the huge tree that used to stand in the dinner hall of the orphanage, so tall he used to hurt his neck looking up at it.

There was a note on the kitchen worktop and Face all but snatched it up, disappointed and then shameful to see it was from Momma. Sugar, he couldn’t help but smile at the endearment, I hope you’re alright. Of course, they wouldn’t know when this note was written. Wouldn’t know if he’d be home at all, and if he was whether or not he would have a court martial bearing down on him. There’s quiche in the fridge and fruit cake in the box on the counter. Face’s heart swelled. Call us if you need us, otherwise we’ll see you tomorrow, around two. Xxx.

He walked to the fridge and opened the door, blinking in the sudden light and stared at the single plate, covered in Saran wrap, a can of bud and a picture of a smiling Santa propped next to it. Face smiled, recognising Jonny’s handiwork in the picture and reached in to take it out, closing the door on the quiche and wandering upstairs to place the picture on his nightstand. 

He’d never used this room much, this bed much. He and Hannibal always tended to use the bed in the older man’s room, Face coming in through the en-suite they shared. But since Hannibal had moved out, this really had become Face’s room and he found himself wondering if he’d ever use the other one again. 

His stomach was empty but his heart was heavy and he’d had just about enough of this day altogether. With one last glance at the smiling Santa, he stripped off his uniform, letting it fall to the floor in dishevelled piles and stepped into the en-suite, ignoring the door to Hannibal’s room and stepping into the shower instead, staying under a hot spray for almost twenty minutes until he felt that he’d washed as much of the day away as possible. Then he simply pulled on a pair of lounge pants and crawled into bed, closing his eyes and wishing for dark oblivion. 

It wasn’t to be though. Snatches of conversation from the long day wheeled in and out of his head. He tossed and turned as he thought of things he should have said, comments that he didn’t quite know what to make of. And of course there was always the images in his head of little Yousef, the moment the bullet struck, the way his body had just crumpled, the pool of blood that spread from him as he lay in the dirt – a young life just… gone.

Almost an hour must have passed and he was thinking of getting up and helping himself to a generous shot of whisky when a noise from downstairs had him freezing in concentration. It was obviously not the kids coming home and his mind skittered instantly towards the darkness of the house and a possible pre-Christmas break-in. No sooner had that thought settled into his head, though when he heard the distinctive double thunk of Hannibal taking his boots off in the hallway. 

Rolling onto his back he stared at the dark ceiling. Shit. He didn’t want to do this now, really could have done with a bit of time, a bit of a chance to haul himself together after the wringer he’d been through over the past few months. But - what the hell. It had always been on its way, at least now he could get it over with before he spoke to the kids again, at least he’d know where they stood by then. 

The footsteps were coming straight up the stairs, not a single light switched on and Face was grateful, he didn’t look his best and he knew that all of this would be far harder to take if he could see Hannibal's eyes without the love in them. 

“Face?” and then he was there, his voice just behind the bed, still in the doorway he supposed and for a moment he considered the coward’s way out, just lying still and waiting for the boss to leave. Footsteps sounded softly across the carpet and a gentle hand rested on Face’s still-damp hair. “Face? Sweetheart? You awake?”

Face stirred slightly, confused at the words and croaked out a sleepy sounding, “Yeah. I’m awake.”

“Oh, baby,” the hand in his hair slid around to cup his head gently, a forehead was pressed into his. “I heard what happened today. I’m so pleased, so, so pleased for you; I told you they’d see the truth in it all eventually.”

Pulling back, Face sat up, his brow creased as he wondered what the hell Hannibal had heard, wondering again why he’d needed to hear, why the hell he hadn’t been there. And the people at that hearing hadn’t seen the truth either, they’d had it thrust in their unwilling faces, shoved there by Morrow’s lucky find of Allison. He shook his head, what a pile of shit. 

Hannibal however, seemed unperturbed, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands reaching out to rest on Face’s hip. “You’ve done so well in all of this, conducted yourself perfectly, despite the provocation you were under. I knew you’d win them over in the end kid, I’m so proud of you.”

“Proud of me?” Face felt like he was full of broken glass that was slowly starting to shatter. “For what? What the fuck did I do? If it hadn’t been for some low-ass corporal riding in to save day I’d be locked away by now already, and who the fuck would even care?”

Hannibal pulled back himself and Face could almost taste his confusion and hurt in the darkness and what the hell did he have to be all cut up about? It wasn’t like he’d been through this mess with Face, it wasn’t like he’d had to live it, day by day, the stares and the slurs and the mortification that he’d shamed his kids, shamed his lover so badly that they couldn’t even stand to be in the same country as him. It wasn’t as if-

Oh. He suddenly stopped his internal tirade, the gears in his head spinning and swirling and finally clicking into place. “It was you,” he breathed, a hand going out in the dark and fastening tightly around Hannibal's wrist. “You found Allison. That’s where you’ve been these last weeks. You found him, you found the vest.”

“I did. I-” and then Hannibal ground to a halt and Face didn’t have to be able to see his eyes to know the crushing disappointment that would be there. “Oh, Face… How could you think that?” There was a snap to his voice that sent Face’s heart thumping and he stood up off the bed, almost sprang up in fact, tugging his wrist free and leaving Face groping in the darkness for him. “After everything,” hurt dripped from every word. “How could you?” Then he turned and walked out.

Face flopped back on the bed, his chest heaving, his mind spinning. Of course, of course, of course. Now it all made perfect sense. Motherfucker. Hannibal had moved out because Morrow had told him to, Face knew that, it been bitterly sensible for them, right up until the point that Hannibal had, seemingly, just started going about his business as usual. That’s what had hurt the most, knowing that Hannibal was off in Iraq or Afghanistan or Syria just doing his thing, the thing that he was supposed to do with Face, and leaving Face alone to cope with the Article 32 hearing and the accusations and the trauma of having killed a child. 

But that’s not what had happened at all. Hannibal hadn’t abandoned him to his fate, he’d worked hard, tirelessly, ceaselessly, trying to find something that would prove that Face was telling the truth. Absolute. Mother. Fucker. He was such an ass-hole.

He kicked off the duvet and swung his legs out of the bed, padding out into the hallway and down the stairs, following the soft white glow to find Hannibal, standing next to the now-lit tree, his back ramrod straight as he held a glass of scotch in his hand and stared out at the darkened garden. Cautiously, Face approached him, “Hannibal, I...” he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

That stiff back didn’t twitch and Face winced, winced once more when Hannibal spoke, his voice as laced with hurt as it had been in the bedroom. “What did you think then? When I wasn’t here? That I’d left you? Was abandoning you? Did you even think I’d throw you all out of the house?”

Face flushed and looked at the floor. “John, I’m sorry, I really am. You know… it’s just been hard, that’s all and I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Damn right you weren’t!”

Silence fell and Face hovered, unsure what he could do to put this right when his very presence seemed to be making it all so much worse. He took a step in, losing his nerve once more when he saw Hannibal’s shoulders twitch. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. 

Hannibal shook his head. “What have you got to be sorry about anyway? It’s my own damn fault, I should have known the way you’d spin this if you were left alone for five minutes.”

Despite his regret, that hurt and Face found his hackles rising a little in his defence. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean? That somehow this is all down to me being emotionally deficient and not down to you pissing off without a single word of explanation?”

“Don’t twist this again, Face.”

“I’m not! I’m just saying-”

“When?!” Hannibal whirled around on the spot and cut across him, eyes flashing in anger. “Tell me when I’ve ever given you cause to doubt me or my love or my damn commitment to this relationship?”

Face rubbed his brow. “You haven’t, you just-”

“Just what? Left my job and my friends and my family for three months to scrub around the desert looking for some almost mythical suicide vest just for the fucking fun of it?”

“No! Of course not, but it was hard being here on my own, not knowing where you were or why you’d gone! And who else hasn’t betrayed me, eh, boss? You know the fucking list, and now the army? The army I’d have given my life for, orphaned my kids for, they start in as well, only too fucking keen to turn on me, accuse me of slaughtering a fucking child for what? For fun?” Face had never done this, never had the chance to let it all out. It had been too raw and too dangerous and he was too busy trying to be the perfect soldier and not let anything ruin his slim chance of surviving the whole mess. “What was I supposed to think when you tell me you’re moving out because it doesn’t look good? I know your career is important to you, John, I know you didn’t want any of the shit coming your way to stick, but still…” he shook his head. “I didn’t know if you’d ever come back! What was I supposed to think?”

“My career?! God-damnit Face! Don’t you know me any better than that - still? My career is nothing to me, not when compared to you and the kids and my life here with you all! I left because it didn’t look good for you! How can you think that of me, after all we’ve said and done and been through? How can you, Face? And what were you supposed to think?” Face could see his eyes shining wetly in the lights of the tree. “You were supposed to damn well trust me. Believe in me. Give me a fucking chance.”

“I would have done if you’d been here to trust!”

“How could I be here? And how could you doubt so easily? What the fuck is wrong with you to even consider that?”

“Everything!” Face was fuming now, his emotions running high and straining away from his control. “Everything is wrong with me, why else would this keep happening to me? Why else would we even be in this mess right now?” The words fell into the stillness of the room and Hannibal deflated like a burst balloon. His sigh was long and hard and had Face even more worried than he had been. “Boss?”

“I can’t do this, kid…” The voice was quiet and Face’s heart was thundering again. 

“Do what?” he almost daren’t ask.

“This.” Hannibal shook his head tiredly. “I know these last months have been hard for you, Face, I know that, I get that. But… they’ve been hard for me too.”

“I know…” and he did know, beneath his hurt and anger and confusion of course he knew.

“It was hard to walk away from you, knowing I might not get to hold you again in such a long time. It was hard to stay away when Momma said you were struggling, had convinced yourself that you were going to lose this fight. But I had to do it. I had to give myself a chance to find something that would show people the truth of that day, just what an amazing, and difficult, job you did. But now…” one big hand reached up to scrub tiredly at his face. “I can’t do this. I can’t argue with you and throw blame about and fuss and fight…” he lifted his head and caught Face’s eyes as Face stared resignedly back, “Not when I need you this damn much.”

His voice broke, just a little, over that last word and with it, Face’s heart. Time stretched between them as they balanced on a precipice, everything possible, good and bad, in that tiny slice of time and then Face snapped into motion. “Oh, God,” his voice was rough as he stepped closer to Hannibal. “Boss, John, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, come here, please…” 

Hannibal didn’t need asking twice and they crashed together, Face’s arms winding around strong shoulders and bringing Hannibal’s head down into his neck and Hannibal held him back, his grip almost crushing as his arms slipped around Face’s waist. “I was so scared,” he whispered into shower-scented skin, “I was terrified I would lose you and that Portia and David would take the kids and I’d be left with nothing when now, I have everything, more than I ever knew I wanted. And I use to wake up every morning and watch you sleep and know I was the luckiest bastard ever born and then-” 

“Shush, shush, sweetheart please,” Face wasn’t used to seeing Hannibal so close to the edge. He was always the strong one, always; the voice of reason in a crisis, the man with the plan when Face couldn’t see a way out, calmness personified in a storm. To see him like this, to know that it had been Face’s casual disregard of his loyalty and love that had tipped him over the edge – it was hard to deal with. “I’m sorry, and it’s okay, it’s all okay now, you’ve sorted it, we’re alright, nothing’s going to change, I’m sorry…”

He kept up the string of soothing words, reaffirmations and promises, his hands rubbing circles over tense back muscles and slowly Hannibal started to relax into him, the edge avoided and he began to press kisses into the bare skin beneath his lips as Face slid a hand up into his hair. “Can’t ever lose you,” he whispered between kisses. “Not ever. You, this family, you’re everything to me, kid, I don’t know if you’ll ever understand that.”

Face closed his eyes. “I will. I do. It’s just… it’s just hard to remember sometimes. It’s like-”

He stopped as Hannibal lifted his head and pinned him with a stare flooded in love and lust and more than a hint of desperation. They stared at each other then moved as one, the thread that had stretched between them snapping back at last and they fell into a kiss, messy and frantic and just absolutely perfect. Hannibal backed Face towards the sofa and they slid down onto it, a little jink at the last minute twisting Face up on top, his body crushing Hannibal into the sofa. “John?”

Hannibal blinked back up at him in the lights from the tree. “I need you, Temp. I need you so much.”

They were back on each other then, kissing and kissing and busy hands shedding clothing by touch alone. Face had only been wearing his pyjama bottoms and they were gone in an instant, skittering across the floor and leaving him naked, his erect cock leaking silver trails of pre-come against Hannibal's trouser leg. At some point since his appearance at the hearing, Hannibal had changed from his formal uniform and into jeans and a plain blue shirt. Face loved him in jeans, loved the spectacular way they hugged his ass but there was no time for that now, not when he needed to be naked just as fast as humanly possible.

They broke off from the kissing for a few moments of concentrated scrambling, and then, finally, Hannibal was just as naked at Face, just as aroused and they fell back to devouring each other, Face gently stroking them both in his fist, just stoking them higher and higher whilst they drank their fill. 

“Enough,” Hannibal finally breathed, breaking the kiss and lurching to the side to grab his jeans. “Here,” a tube was pushed into Face’s hand. “Need you, kid.” 

No other instructions were needed; seven years they’d been doing this now, hundreds and hundreds of sexual encounters full of love and passion meant that they knew each other inside out and Face went back to kissing Hannibal as he covered his fingers in lube and started stroking and stretching and teasing by feel alone. 

He was certainly doing a good job if the burning heat of Hannibal's erection was anything to go by. That huge cock that Face loved to see at its full glory like this was rubbing insistently against his hip even as Hannibal was starting to moan and gasp into their kisses. “Now,” he breathed and Face slid into place.

For a moment, he considered breaking off for the thirty seconds it would take them to get upstairs and into the comfort of a bed, but then he saw the way that the tree lights cast beautiful patterns over the naked skin of the man he loved, the need and the want that was in Hannibal’s eyes and he knew that he couldn’t even spare a moment before he needed to join them together in love once more. He bent to kiss Hannibal again, shuffling forward and letting his body find its own way home. He nudged his hips forward, shifted his angle and tried again, once more and he was there, the head of his cock pushing against that firm ring of muscle, pushing, pushing and then the sudden in-rush as Hannibal opened to him, wringing gasps of pleasure from them both.

“Oh, Temp.”

“Fuck, boss, you feel so good. So good.” And he did, hot and smooth and just enough lube for Face to slide in and out against those wonderfully tight, grasping walls. 

After that there was no time for talk. Face was too busy trying not to burst from the pleasure and aiming at Hannibal's prostate with every stroke whilst Hannibal was laid back in the cushions of the couch, his eyes closed, his mouth open as Face rocked him higher and higher. 

They didn’t do this often, whilst Face liked to bottom, Hannibal was more flexible, and it hurt him that the boss had felt the need to ask for this, that the stress of the last few months, last few days and hours, especially had made him this needy. It was too easy for Face to forget that Hannibal had needs and hang-ups as well, just like it was too easy for him to forget that he was loved and cherished and wanted by this incredible man. He knew he was lucky that he was though, why else would Hannibal put up with all his self-doubts and neurosis?

Face pushed such depressing thoughts from his head and instead just concentrated on their reunion. There would be time enough for apologies and some soul-searching later on, for now he just had some emotional wounds to dress. He bit back on his mounting pleasure, needing to take Hannibal apart before he could even think of coming himself and marvelled at the sight before him. The coloured lights from the tree twinkled ethereal patterns on Hannibal's naked skin, his long, powerful legs were splayed open, one leg bent and pressed up against the back cushions of the couch, the other stretching out across the wooden floor, allowing Face the space needed to press up close, rocking in and out on his knees. Those big hands were clenching and unclenching in time with the firm fist Face had around his cock. That warm pillar of flesh felt incredible in his hand, fitting perfectly with enough space for his grip to slide up and down, wringing pleasure from his man in a way he would never, ever tire of watching.

As he stared, Hannibal bucked up a little into his fist, moaning in pleasure and Face watched a fresh bead of pre-come blossom from the shining head. He couldn’t resist leaning forward, almost folding himself in half to taste, tongue flicking out and Hannibal instantly tightened around his cock, a breathed gasp of, “Fuck!” enough encouragement for Face to suck him in, jamming his own hips as deep as he could as Hannibal exploded against his tongue, bursts and bursts of salty release which Face swallowed down, hand and cock expertly drawing every tiny surge of pleasure from Hannibal’s body. 

Finally he was done, a weak hand stroking through his hair and Face straightened up, sucking air greedily into his crushed lungs. Hannibal’s eyes were closed and Face needed to come so he leaned forward, unable to resist kissing those lax lips as he set a blistering pace, hammering himself into that grasping heat over and over, loving the feel of his tongue mirroring his cock.

He felt Hannibal shift beneath him and frowned, worried this was hurting but before he had the chance to draw back, two strong legs wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer and pulling him deeper and he moaned into Hannibal's mouth. 

After that he was lost. Santa Claus himself could have fallen down his chimney and he couldn’t have stopped, it was too wonderful, too intimate, too glorious and so much of what he’d needed these last few months and then he was coming, gasping for breath as he emptied himself in powerful spurts right up into Hannibal's soul. 

It took everything he had not to collapse on top of the man beneath him the second he was done, only just managing to manoeuvre himself sideways in time. He felt himself slip out of that grasping heat and thanked the heavens that the sofa was leather and (hopefully) easy to clean afterwards, then he just lay still, his head on Hannibal's chest, feeling the powerful thumps of the heart inside and enjoyed the tremors of electricity running through him. 

“I love you.”

The deep voice rumbled straight into his ear and he lifted his head, blinking at Hannibal's blissed out expression in the half light. “I’m sorry,” and he was – for everything.

Hannibal smiled, but it there was no joy in it and he lifted a hand to stroke through his sweaty curls once more. “Leave it, baby, please. It’s Christmas and we’re together and everything’s going to be okay and I don’t want to keep rehashing everything with you.”

Face swallowed his tongue; the thing was though, he wanted to rehash it. He was churning up inside, guilt at the way he’d treated Hannibal, the assumptions he’d made, what he’d put everyone through following his decision on that last mission, the way he’d not followed through on the job, not been able to stomach watching what had happened after his shot. And of course taking the shot itself, he would always feel guilt for that, every time he closed his eyes, every time he looked at his own kids, still living and breathing and with an entire life ahead of them when Yousef did not. The hurt and the betrayal, at the Army, at his own counsel, at everyone who’d ignored him these last few weeks or crossed the road rather than talk to him. At Hannibal still, irrationally and unintentionally, but it was still there, the weeks of hurt had been so hard that the misplaced blame would take a while to fade.

But how could he say any of that to Hannibal who looked about as drained and exhausted as Face could ever remember him? These last months had been hard on them all and now it was Face’s job to try and get things back on an even keel; he knew he could, he could just shut up and deal and things would be fine.

He could do – would do - anything for Hannibal.

He smiled his own smile, hoped it was nowhere near as hollow as it felt and reached up to hold onto Hannibal's hand. “How about we just go to bed then?” he asked. “It’s been a long time since we did this down stairs, we’re gonna be cramped up like a couple of old men if we stay here much longer.”

For a moment, Hannibal just looked at him, expression unreadable, but then he nodded. “Sure, bed sounds great. After a shower.”

Hannibal showered on his own whilst Face put the family room back together and cleaned down the sofa, remembering one of the reasons why they didn’t do that downstairs any more. Two more of the reasons would just be finishing off at the theatre he realised, and he fired off a quick text to Sophia, telling her to pass his love on to Jonny as well before switching off the lights and following Hannibal upstairs. 

The older man was already in bed, back in the bed that they always used, the larger one in what was officially Hannibal's room. For just a moment, Face wavered in the doorway and then he shook his head, what the fuck was he thinking? before creeping in and sliding up close to Hannibal’s long frame.

“Okay?” there was a brittle edge to Hannibal's voice that Face didn’t care for and he leaned in to kiss it away. 

“Perfect,” he whispered and it wasn’t a lie as much as a projection of how he wanted to feel. “Glad to have you back, and tired,” he forced out a huge yawn, “Hope I sleep well.”

Hannibal didn’t answer, just pulled him a little closer and together they lay in the dark silence as Christmas Eve edged closer and closer.

______________________

Hannibal would have killed for a coffee. Well, okay, maybe not actually killed, but certainly threatened someone. But to move or do any threatening would mean waking Face up and he certainly wasn’t going to do that. 

Face obviously needed the sleep. Even in repose he looked like shit, shadows, almost lilac in colour framed his eyes, his overnight stubble making him look grey in the early morning light. It seemed that Momma’s assessment of the situation had been painfully accurate and Face had struggled with the recent turn of events even more than Hannibal had feared he would.

His breath was warm and even though as it drifted across Hannibal's bare chest and that was a comfort. The charges were gone, Face would probably even receive some kind of commendation for what he’d done that day and they were together again on Christmas Eve. With a bit of TLC he hoped that he could wipe all that emotional exhaustion from his boy’s mind and they could go back to their happy and joyful lives. 

He wondered if his own guilt would be as easy to shift though. It was hard for him to acknowledge what he’d put Face through by leaving, what he’d continued to put him through by staying away and staying out of contact. 

It had been a necessary evil though. Any ‘solution’ he came up with for Face’s predicament had to be squeaky clean, it couldn’t look like Face or Hannibal or anyone else for that matter had engineered or even fabricated it. It couldn’t look like Hannibal was desperately trying to cover his lover’s ass, and it certainly couldn’t look like Face had had anything to do with tracking the vest down when he’d sworn over and over that he’d had no idea where it had gone. Hannibal had had to work alone, he’d had to leave Face to cope by himself and he’d had to keep him in the dark over what he was hoping would happen and it had been hard, hard work, wearing him down and draining him emotionally and he’d been desperate for his reunion with Face, desperate to feel his lover with him once more; he was totally incomplete without Face at his side.

So, Face’s total lack of faith in him, in his feelings and his motives for staying away had hurt him, really hurt him and he’d struggled to swallow it all down again last night. He’d managed, eventually. Felt better for having Face fill him, hoped Face felt better for having been the one in control, and now he would continue to manage – after all this mess was of his own making.

He knew Face’s insecurities ran very, very deep, knew that the kid had abandonment issues that were rivalled only by his fragile self-esteem. Of course he would take Hannibal's absence hard, of course he would assume the very, very worst of all possible scenarios; he’d probably already sentenced himself to the chair for his actions on that mission… Hannibal's guilt swirled unpleasantly around with his hurt – whilst the initial situation might not have been his fault, the way it had been handled certainly had been and he had a lot to answer for.

If he’d not been so concerned on checking how Face was after taking the life of a child, he could have seen or even prevented Maazin Al-Jamil from taking that vest. If he hadn’t been so keen to protect his lover from further pain he would have instigated his own investigation into the fatal shooting and so removed the need for Cruis to meddle. If he’d listened to Face’s initial concerns about his assessment of the job and been in the right place at the right time, he’d have seen that damn vest himself and removed the need for Face to have to make such a horrific decision. 

All his fault, and as such, he needed to bury his own hurt and frustrations now and do whatever he could to help his boy, his lover, his partner, get through it all and come out of the other side unscathed. He could do it and he would, for Face he would do anything.

The phone on his nightstand flashed and he leaned over to snag it, firing off a quick reply just as Face stirred and shifted against him. He bent and kissed that tousled head. “Morning, sweetheart, happy Christmas Eve.” 

Face stirred and blinked up at him, for just a moment looking drawn and tired and anxious, but then smiling, his lips pressing together again to kiss the naked skin beneath his head, arms pulling them even closer under the duvet. “Morning.” Hannibal felt his cock stir at the gravelly tone to Face’s voice and he rubbed his own hand down a broad back. 

“You sleep well?”

“I did, thanks. You?”

“Absolutely,” it wasn’t worth telling Face about the hours he’d spent awake in the night. “Ready for some coffee?”

Face stretched against him and pushed up off the mattress, eyes not quite meeting Hannibal’s own. “I’d better get up, the kids will be back soon and I’ve loads to do.”

Hannibal frowned. “The kids will be hours yet, Momma’s still waiting for them to wake up and we don’t have much to do today at all, I know you were all ready well in advance.” Momma had told him that as well, that Face had bought and wrapped all the kids’ presents weeks ago just on the off-chance that something occurred to stop him from having any other time. His heart ached for his poor boy again, having to face all that uncertainty on his own when Hannibal should have been there for him but he pushed it all away again. It was Christmas Eve, they needed to move on with a fresh start.

“And anyway,” he shifted down onto his hip, “I have something really important I need to do, something I’ve missed one hell of a lot.” For a moment they looked at each other and Hannibal noted the flush creeping into Face’s expression. It wouldn’t normally be there, there’d usually be a smile and lecherous wink and an invitation to get going, not this flush that actually looked pretty out of place on him. He ducked down, wondered where the hell their easy camaraderie had gone and crept under the duvet, finding his prize by touch alone, letting his lips and his tongue tell Face just how much he’d missed him and feeling a wave of relief soar through him when he felt Face sink back into the mattress, one gentle hand sliding under the duvet to card through his hair.

______________________  
“What time is it now?” Face paced back to the window whilst Hannibal forced himself to stay in the chair by the tree and flick through the Christmas TV listings. 

“One minute after the last time you asked. Come on, Face, sit down, they’ll be here when they’re here.”

Face just let out a long sigh and leaned into the bay, almost pressing his nose to the glass as he waited for BA’s van to appear around the corner. 

Their long morning of solitude and making up had passed quickly along with four orgasms and a couple of sausage subs. He felt more settled than he had done for weeks, that was for sure, but he still didn’t feel right, it still felt like there was this huge gulf between him and Hannibal and he wasn’t sure quite why, never mind what to do about it. Something was eating away at the boss, whether it was the way that Face had forsaken him as soon as the going got tough, or still, the fact that he’d killed an innocent child, he wasn’t sure and until he was he didn’t really know how he could go about putting it right.

“Seriously though,” it felt like years since he’d seen his kids, “How long could it take them to get back? You don’t think there’s been an accident or-” he straightened up before Hannibal could even start to soothe him, “They’re here.”

They walked outside together, Face thrumming with nervous energy and finally BA’s latest girl, a huge grey thing with seven seats and a sound system to die for, pulled to a gentle stop at the side of the road. Face waved to BA and Murdock who were in the front seats and found his heart lifting a little at the huge grins they wore – this ordeal had been tough on them all – before the side door rolled enthusiastically open and a streak of speed that was Jonathon Peck came shooting out. 

“Dad!”

“Hey, fella! How’s it going?” Face caught him in mid-leap and swung him around, pulling him close straight after and burying his nose in all that wavy hair. 

“Awesome!” but Jonny was already squirming to get down. “Look at what Murdock bought me!” he was brandishing a flashing and wailing sword, “It looks really cool in the dark! Hey, Hannibal!” he was off again, throwing himself at the older man, “I’m glad you’re back for Christmas!”

Face shook his head, how simple life was when you were seven years old. His eyes flicked to the van again and there was Sophia, pointing out to BA which was her bag and, as ever, left way behind in Jonny’s wake. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at Face. “Hiya, dad, I’ve got you something.”

“Yeah?” Face wandered forward, clasping hands with BA and hugging Murdock as they passed him by. He hated it when the kids spent their allowance on him, he never wanted them to have anything but whatever they needed despite Hannibal forever telling him that buying him gifts was sometimes what they needed. “You enjoy the show?”

“It was brilliant!” Sophia’s eyes were shining just like Charissa’s used to and Face knew he’d get a minute by minute account of the show later on; Sophia went to stage school after classes twice a week and was really, really, starting to get into acting and singing and dancing. “But look! Your present! Merry Christmas, dad!”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas!” Jonny’s voice sounded in his ear, probably from Hannibal’s arms, as Sophia reached into the van once more and out came his present. Face had been expecting a bag, a box maybe, even something on a leash if Jonny had had his way, but what he hadn’t expected was the hand that reached out and curled around Sophia’s and the dark shape that stepped into view, the smile on his face as wide as Momma’s standing behind him.

“Merry Christmas, my boy. By… it’s good to see you!”

Face was on the move in an instant, one arm gathering Sophia up as he passed, the other wrapping tightly around those still-strong, broad shoulders. “Father!” his voice was annoyingly rough. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

There was a booming laugh and a hearty clap on his back and the Father, Monsignor actually, enthusiastically returned the hug. “And miss the chance to have Christmas with my family?” He pulled back, both hands on Face’s cheeks, his smile wide and watery. “Never.”

“You don’t-” Face turned to kiss Sophia back as she dropped a peck on his cheek. “You don’t have to do services or something?” a flutter of panic stirred in his gut, “You don’t have to rush off?”

“Goodness me, no!” he still had that booming laugh that Face had adored as a child. “There are some perks to being promoted up out of the way you know, son.”

“No one’s put you out of the way!” Adele Baracus appeared at the Father’s left side and linked his arm. “You deserve every honour you’ve got.”

“I’m not sure that’s so good you know,” Father David remarked casually to Sophia who giggled and looped her arms around Face’s neck just as Jonny appeared at Momma’s side, jumping up and down to get the Father’s attention, “Grandpa!” that name, adopted automatically by Sophia almost as soon as she could speak, always made Face’s heart leap in joy. “Come and see the tree house Hannibal and BA made for me round the back! It’s awesome!”

Father David smiled at Face once more, “I’m so glad to be here,” his voice was low, private. “So, so, glad.” Face smiled. “I’m sure it’s going to be an awesome, Christmas.” He winked then and Face laughed as Jonny dragged him away, Sophia running to catch them up. He turned then, to his friends just as Momma swept him up in a huge hug. 

“Thank you,” he hoped his voice wasn’t lost in her voluminous scarf. “All of you, for everything.”

“Hey, bud,” Murdock actually ruffled his hair as he went by with an armful of shopping bags, “Anything for you, you know that, right?”

He did as well. Maybe. Hopefully. Hannibal was watching him from the edge of the garden and his expression wasn’t sad or betrayed or disappointed any more it was … hopeful maybe. An awesome Christmas? God, he hoped so.

_______________________________

Face shivered as he hauled the full bag of garbage into the can in the back yard, wishing he’d grabbed a jacket as he noticed the sky full of stars above him. They’d eaten the deli sandwiches that had been bought en-route from Atlanta, they’d listened to the reports of the show and the shopping and the hotel, they’d made a start in unpacking the children’s bags and now it was dark and Face’s mind had turned to trying to get the children into bed. There had been very little talk of his hearing for which he was grateful and whilst there still seemed to be this strange distance between him and Hannibal, there had been plenty of smiles and touches headed his way as well. 

It was hopeful still, and that was good. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Hannibal, nothing at all to try and smooth over this whole mess. 

The door behind him opened and he looked over his shoulder, smiling at Father David who left the door wide open as he dropped an empty deli box in the can and made his way over to stand next to Face in the yard. “You were always one for the skies, Templeton, now weren’t you?”

Face let his eyes drift upwards once more. “What’s not to love about it? I mean, look…”

Both men stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder and stared at the night sky.

“I always knew where to find you when you vanished on us. Highest possible place, that’s where you’d be, skinny little monkey that you were, never made it easy for us to get you down.”

Face laughed. “Of course not, that was the entire point of it all.”

“Hmm. And you usually vanished when there was something we wanted to talk to you about, a missing pie, a visit from the local patrolman something like that.”

“You wound me.”

“Or if you just had something you wanted to think about on your own.”

Face stilled at his side and didn’t answer. 

“Is that what this is then, Templeton? Something you want to think about on your own?”

There was a long pause as Face thought about that, then a sigh as he let out a breath. “Believe me Father, you don’t want to do this now. Or ever really.”

“You should be happy,” the Father kept his eyes on the stars, “and yet you’re not. I can almost taste it on you, the sorrow, is it ever going to go?”

Face dropped his eyes to the grass. “I don’t know.”

A hand slid across his shoulders and pulled him close. “You do know, that you weren’t the one who dragged that child into a theatre of war, don’t you?”

Face shook his head, even so leaning a little more into all that warmth and strength. “I killed him though,” his voice was little more than a whisper. 

“And what choice did you have? You know what would have happened if you’d let him get to the Mosque. You made the only decision you could, and, I repeat, you were not the one who involved him in the first place.”

Silence fell in the garden and Face idly wondered who had given the Father such classified information. Not that it mattered at all, not that any of it mattered, when the time came he would still have killed an innocent child and he would still have to answer for it. “Let’s hope the big guy shares your understanding nature then, Father, hey?”

The arm around him tightened. “God knows you Templeton. He sees into your heart every single day of your life. When we die we aren’t judged over one single act, good or bad, we’re judged as a sum of our lives, everything we’ve ever done or thought or said.” 

“Shit – I am in trouble then.”

Father David let out his own sigh of annoyance. “I don’t expect you to believe me over night, but I do need you to think about this, think about it a lot. You can’t let misplaced guilt drag you down.”

“Drag Hannibal down you mean…”

The words were low, murmured, but the Father’s hearing was still well up to catching them. “Templeton, my boy, surely you don’t mean that?”

Face lifted his hands to scrub them through his hair. “I don’t know, I don’t know what I believe any more, what I should do, how I should handle all of this, I just don’t know anything.” 

“Are you talking about Hannibal now, or that poor boy?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Well, that boy, you need to talk to someone about it. Me, Hannibal, a counsellor, a friend, anyone but you need to talk. You need to see that you really didn’t have a choice to make that day.”

“And Hannibal?”

“Well…” the arm over his shoulder tightened slightly. “That depends. I’m still not sure I understand what your problem is there.”

“My problem,” Face dropped his hands and turned his face to the stars once more. “I guess I’m the problem, Father. Just me.”

“In what way would that be now then, son?”

“In the way that I’m not what Hannibal needs, or wants, despite what he seems to think on the matter.”

“Why not?”

Face laughed dryly and shook his head. “Because I can’t cope with all of this; how can I be a real soldier if I can’t cope with killing someone? Because all of this, my decision, my reaction, my inability to prove the reasons behind my actions, all impact on him, smear him and he doesn’t deserve that. And,” his head hung once more, “I doubted him. When I should have trusted, I let him down and how can he ever forgive me that? Any of that? I’m his XO, Father, I’m supposed to solve problems for him, not create new ones. And all I’m doing now, despite what I swore to myself this afternoon is just making problem after problem after problem for him!” 

“What if it were the other way round?” The Father’s voice was steady in the dark of the yard. “If everything that had happened to you, had happened to Hannibal. In his place, what would you do?”

“That’s a crazy question. How-”

“No it’s not. What would you do, leave him, or love him?”

Shaking his head again, Face frowned at the priest’s stubbornness. “Of course I’d love him but it’s different!”

“Why?”

“Because Hannibal would never get himself into a mess like this!”

“You saying he wouldn’t have shot that boy?”

“Well… I guess he…”

“Yes or no. Would he have stood there and watched all those people on the Mosque die, or would he have done exactly what you did?”

“Daddy!” Sophia’s voice cut through the darkness towards them and Face turned a little, unwilling to let her see him on the edge like this. 

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Jonny says his Santa Sack goes on the left of the fireplace near the tree but it doesn’t! Mine does and it has every single year since we lived here!”

Face rubbed his eyes. “Okay, I’ll talk to him in a minute. You two got your pyjamas on?”

“Yes.”

“Well go and clean your teeth. I’ll be in in a second.”

The door slammed behind Sophia as she ran to ruin Jonny’s night and Face turned to follow her, the arm on his shoulders tightening and preventing him as father David spoke once more. “You know he would do the same as you, and you need to get this sorted, Templeton, you understand that? You need to speak to the right people and get everything straight in your head.” Face paused, his eyes on the stars as they shone in a puddle on the ground. “Hannibal loves you. He wants to be with you. He wants you to be happy. Nothing else matters to him except all of that. Do you understand me?”

The unmistakable sound of Jonny in tears leaked through the closed door and Face turned to go back inside. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I really don’t know.”

“Templeton,” Father David waited until Face had lifted his eyes from the wet grass. “He won’t leave you, you know, not ever.” Face stared up at the night again, hoping that that was true. “But he might let you push him away,” those blue eyes flashed downwards again, “if he thinks that’s what you want, if you’re convincing enough. You need to be careful.”

They looked at each other for a few moments before Face turned and walked slowly back towards the house, sliding into the kitchen as cigar smoke coiled gently around the gate from the driveway beyond.

______________________________

Finally the children were in bed. BA and Murdock had gone back to their house a block or so back, dropping the others off at Momma’s house on the way. The children had been upset that their Grandpa wasn’t staying with them, Jonny had pleaded with him to sleep in the pop-up castle on his bedroom floor, but Face had seen the look of panic in Father David’s eyes and knew that he needed the peace and serenity of Momma’s house; he certainly wasn’t getting any younger. Face had also solved the problem of the Santa Sacks by suggesting that, this year, they pick a chair each and put their sacks on those instead. Jonny had instantly flung himself and his empty sack on the big recliner in the window, whilst Sophia, tiny smile fighting to light up her face, had placed her sack on the arm of the chair closest to the left side of the fireplace.

Once the house was quiet and relatively empty, Hannibal had stayed up to finish tidying the kitchen and now made his way slowly up the stairs, fully expecting to find Face fast asleep in bed. The kid still looked awful, last night’s sleep and their morning of love seemed to have done nothing much to soothe his troubles and Hannibal was at a loss as to what just might. He pushed the bedroom door open, slowly, quietly, the very last thing he needed to do was wake one of the kids up, especially after the time it had taken to get them asleep in the first place, and there was Face, sitting up in bed, leafing through a stack of Christmas cards, bare-chested, candles glowing on the nightstand, soft carols playing, two glasses of red glowing like a summer sunset, the reading glasses he never wore betraying his exhaustion. He looked up though, and smiled and Hannibal tried to commit that picture to memory – it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. 

“Been waiting up for you,” Face’s voice was low, there was no way he wanted anyone waking up either. “Felt like we needed a moment.”

Hannibal thought about that as he drifted in, closing the door behind him. “A moment?” he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but then Face took his glasses off and smiled again and Hannibal relaxed just a touch. He slipped out of his clothes and visited the en-suite, making it faster than he normally did, coming back out to find Face had abandoned the cards and the glasses in favour of his wine and was propped up on the pillows, eyes watching Hannibal carefully. He slid into the bed, pressing himself close to Face’s long form, taking the glass that was offered and smiling, hating the hint of anxiety he could see in his love’s expression, hiding just behind that smile. “Happy Christmas, baby,” he whispered, leaning in to press a kiss on Face, tasting the wine and the lingering chocolate from dinner. 

“Happy Christmas.” Face turned and placed his glass on the nightstand, twisting back on his hip and lying on his side, one warm palm resting on Hannibal’s hip as he mirrored Face, eyes searching for some idea as to where this was going. 

For a long moment, that’s all there was, just eyes in the candle-light of the room. There were lots of things that Hannibal wanted to say; please don’t let this drag us down, please don’t believe that any of this is the real you, please don’t give up on everything, please don’t leave me… But he couldn’t say any of it, not before he saw which way that Face wanted to take things.

The smile was back, reassuring, yes, but not that realistic, not to the man who’d seen Face at his absolute happiest. “This is going to be okay, you know, boss.”

Hannibal smiled back, “Of course, kid.” So why was he waiting for the ‘but’?

Face’s expression fell at that, his hand reached up and lay against Hannibal's cheek. “You’re not sure,” it wasn’t a question. “You don’t think I can do this?”

Now it was Hannibal's face that fell. “You can do this? Why just you?”

But that just made Face’s frown deepen even more. “Because…” he shook his head. “Because it needs sorting. I know that. It needs dealing with, all of this, and I can do it. I can make it right for us again, boss. You watch me.”

There was a sad smile pulling across Hannibal's face as he spoke, his fingers reaching up to lace with Face’s own which were still laid on his cheek. “Face, I need you to listen to me here, and I need you to understand.” All pretence of smiles and normality gone at those quietly spoken words and Face just looked terrified instead. “I don’t need you to sort anything, kid. I need you to let me in, I need you to realise that we are team here, a team. You, me, the kids, we’re in this together. I need you to realise that none of this is your fault; that I’d have done just the same as you but probably fluffed the shot. And I need you to realise that I love you, and I’m not ever, ever, walking away from you – no matter how hard you push.” 

Face’s eyes flashed up, a flush in his cheeks and Hannibal shook his head. “Don’t baby, please don’t. All I need from you is your love, your trust, your partnership.” And then Face blinked, his eyes wet. “That’s all. There’s nothing you have to fix here, nothing.”

Time stretched on, Face’s gaze flicked down until he was staring at Hannibal's collar bone and Hannibal watched as impassive as he could be as eyelids flickered over and over again.

“I don’t know,” he whispered eventually and Hannibal frowned, unable to resist reaching out and stroking through that ridiculously soft hair. 

“About what, baby?”

The eyes were up again, red-rimmed and wet. “Everything.”

And finally Hannibal understood; Face’s world had been rocked, his decisions vilified, his skill and his judgement slaughtered. The army, the people who’d helped him save himself after Sosa’s death, had turned on him and then even Hannibal had abandoned him. Of course he hadn’t, he never would, but that’s the way Face had seen it, and in retrospect it was obvious that it would have been interpreted that way. 

All of that had taken every inch of structure out of his life, left him reeling and confused and torn between needing Hannibal to make it right for him and needing to make it right for Hannibal. Both of those things had to happen now, Hannibal understood that and now he could help Face to see it all as well.

“Of course you’re confused about all of this,” now it was Hannibal's turn to press his hand onto Face’s cheek. “But let it all go, kid, just let it all slide out. It’ll all come good, we’re gonna take a few weeks, take stock of everything, maybe get you someone to talk to about everything,” Face’s eyes flashed up again and Hannibal smiled. “If that’s what you want. But it’s over now, and we’re going to survive it, be stronger and better and there for each other when things get hard.” And now he was blinking his own tears away. “I’m not going to let this crush us, we’re not going to let it crush us, right?” 

There was a moment, a long moment, one stretched out enough to make Hannibal start to panic but then Face’s eyes were back on him, still wet, still raw but smiling, at last, properly smiling. “Right,” his voice was torn and Hannibal knew that there were wounds that would need coming back to over the coming weeks but there was belief in his eyes, thank God, there was belief in his eyes at last.

“Come here,” he pulled Face to him and they wrapped their limbs around each other, Hannibal trying really hard not to imagine how life would have been if the Hearing had gone the other way and that’s how they stayed as the clock in the hallway chimed midnight and the candles burned down and the wine warmed through. Face eventually slept, but Hannibal didn’t, not for hours; he was just far too happy holding his boy and knowing it was Christmas Day and looking forward, not only to the scenes of joy that would light the house when the children, his children as well he realised, awoke, but the joy that awaited them all in the coming weeks and months. They would be okay. They absolutely would.

_________________________

It was cold enough to make Face suck in a breath as they left Momma’s house and started the short walk back to their own. Hannibal had Jonny perched on his shoulders, breathing out into the night, pretending he was a dragon whilst Face had the bags of presents in one hand, Sophia's warm fingers in the other. 

He was happy. More than happy really. His vision was filled with the sight of Hannibal and Jon, both so very dear to him and over their soft footfalls and cold breath he could hear Sophia singing ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ succumbing to the hundreds of times that Murdock had played it over the course of the day. He’d had a wonderful day full of fun and love and great food, better company, perfect gifts, family, friends… was there anything else he could ever want?

Things felt better with Hannibal since their talk last night, much better really. He knew they had issues left to work on, and that bitter stab of regret hit him once more when he thought of Yousef’s bleeding body, but at least he had confidence that they could do it together now. Him and Hannibal – a team. Yeah, they were and they always would be. 

“You had a good day, daddy?” Sophia broke off from her singing to ask and Face smiled down at her. 

“The very best. What about you?”

“Awesome!” they both giggled at Jonny’s word of the week. “What was your best gift?” 

Face thought about that as he watched Hannibal bouncing down the road in front of them, a shrieking Jonny clinging to his head. His best gift was what he hadn’t got, a Court Martial, a dismissal, a criminal record and time behind bars, but he couldn’t tell Sophia that. “My calendar,” he said instead, thinking of the calendar that Momma had helped the children make for him with a piece of their artwork and a photograph of them for every month. Sophia smiled happily, pleased with that answer. “What about you?” he asked. 

“My bracelet,” she held her arm out to shake the silver charm bracelet out from inside her coat. “It’s the nicest one I’ve ever seen.” It was lovely. Face and Hannibal had bought it for her, complete with two charms, a heart from Face and a princess crown from Hannibal. Everyone had then added to it, each choosing their own charm, a spider from Jonny (he couldn’t be dissuaded), a bird from Murdock. Momma chose a cupcake, BA a tiny hammer, Father David a book and even David and Portia Sosa had contributed, mailing a little silver flower like the ones they grew in their yard. Face had known from the second she’d opened it that she’d loved it, but it was good to hear the confirmation.

“It looks beautiful on you, Beautiful.” She smiled up at him and he was struck, as always, at how beautiful she was. 

They walked on in silence for a few minutes more, nearing the end of their own road and Face was just about to ask Sophia how long she thought it would be before Jonny was sick, when she beat him to it, her voice quiet at his side. “Is everything all fixed now, daddy?” 

That cold spike was back, and he glanced at her earnest face before looking away again, unwilling to lie whilst she held his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” her words started to tumble out and Face was struck with guilt at how much she’d obviously picked up these last few weeks. “You’ve been sad a lot recently, and not at work. Jessica Coleman said you were going to get thrown out of the Army and Bobby Jackson said you were going to go to prison,” she threw a frightened little glance up at him as Face clamped his jaw shut to stop him from wishing a colourful death on Jessica and Bobby and their fathers. “And Grandad asked me if we’d like to come and live with them and Grandma shouted at him for saying it, but Hannibal was just gone, and Murdock stopped laughing and BA had that line, here,” she trailed a finger over her own forehead. “I asked Momma what was going on and she said that there were issues at work for you and you were sorting it and that’s was Hannibal was doing too and I Googled ‘issue’ and it said it was a problem and…” she visibly swallowed and Face saw that her eyes were wet and shining. “Is it sorted now?”

He squeezed her hand, his voice tight. “It is sweetheart, it’s all sorted. Perfectly. I’m not going to prison and I’m not getting thrown out of the army. I’ve done nothing wrong,” he wondered when he’d actually believe that himself, “and you shouldn’t listen to Jessica, or Bobby or anyone else who says that I have.”

Sophia looked up at Hannibal as he swung Jonny down from his shoulders at the gate to the house. “I told Jessica that she can’t come to my birthday party anymore,” Face rolled his eyes; the justice of ten year old girls, “but Bobby was really mean so I punched him.”

Face stopped dead at that, fingers tightening on hers, shock rolling through him in waves. “You did what?”

“I punched him, right here.” She screwed up a fist and pressed it against her own eye and nose.

“What happened?” Face knew he was gaping and Sophia shrugged.

“Well, first of all his nose bled and then he cried and then when he came back to class the next day he had a black eye too.”

Face blinked at her, “Did you get into trouble? Why don’t I know about this?” 

“Well, Ruby told Miss Watson what he’d said about you and she said it served him right, made him say sorry to me as well. But I still hate him.”

They started walking again. “You shouldn’t have hit him,” Face felt like he had to at least try at some discipline. 

“He deserved it. And you would have done, hit someone if they said mean things about any of us.” There was a challenge in her voice and a tilt to her chin that made him feel uncomfortably like he was looking into a mirror but before he could say anything else the sound of retching came from just beyond the garden fence. “Oh, Jonny! Gross!” 

Face just rolled his eyes at the inevitability of it all and then snorted in laughter at Hannibal's stricken expression as he tried to keep his shoes out of the way of the fountain of vomit. Sophia was probably right, he probably would have done something, was still itching to land a punch on Sergeant Dan Jackson for saying something to Bobby anyway – and a tiny corner of him was bursting with pride that Sophia had looked out for herself so well. But still, it couldn’t be condoned. “Consider yourself grounded for the rest of the week,” he told her as he lifted her over the pile of sick on the path. “And you,” his eyes fell on a still-green looking Jonny, “consider yourself off candy for the rest of the week as well. You ate enough to fill a football stadium today.” The fact that neither of them complained told Face that they knew they’d been in the wrong.

“What about me then?” Hannibal asked him, smirking slightly, as they walked up to the porch.

Face glanced over and then away again, just as quick; he knew he’d never manage to keep a straight face if he looked at the other man. “Well, for letting him eat so much candy in the first place and then jigging him up and down all the way home – you can stay up and hold a bowl for him tonight.” 

He smiled his sweetest smile into Hannibal’s stunned face and slipped into the house, grin widening at the warmth and sparkling tree lights that greeted him. “Merry Christmas to all,” he whispered as he toed off his shoes, “and to all a good night!”

___________________________

Epilogue

Face collapsed in a heap on the sofa next to Hannibal glancing at the phone in his hand as Hannibal sent out a text. “Who’s that to?”

Hannibal slid his phone away, pushing it deep into the pocket of his jeans. “Hank Allison. Just thanking me for taking him to the airport last week. He’s heading back out again tomorrow.”

Face nodded. He knew now that’s where Hannibal had been rather than being at the rest of his hearing, and in the circumstances, he totally understood. The door to the family room burst open at that and Face had to move his legs out of the way as the children conga’d past him and out into the garden a flushed Murdock at their head, an unbelievably giggly BA jigging along behind them. “I don’t know where they get their energy from!” he marvelled. “It’s nearly three in the morning!”

Hannibal laughed, planting his hand on Face’s knee. “It’s not New Year’s every day you know kid. And don’t forget, they weren’t up all night being so damn sexy and tempting me over and over and over again…”

Warm blood rushed into Face’s groin at those words, defying the alcohol in his system and the exhaustion in his body. “No, it wasn’t anything to do with me… you were pretty insatiable last night.” 

“You were just too tempting, baby.”

“It made a good end to the year though. A good start to the next. 2019, the year you retire…”

Hannibal snorted. “God – don’t remind me.” For three years he’d managed to avoid the threat of retirement, but finally, with the pressure from Face and the others almost as tough as the pressure from the top, he’d relented. They wanted him to come back as a consultant, better pay, better hours, no more foreign postings, he should have been happy with that, but it was the time away from Face that terrified him.

He’d tried to get Face to leave with him, had held out for these last few years hoping his boy would change his mind, but the kid was so much younger, all of his boys were, and they were understandably worried about what they would do to pay the bills afterwards. Face especially, he’d been so lost the last time he’d left, so adrift and desperately short of money… But this was different, he was part of a secure, long term relationship now and Hannibal would never let him get into that position again. He was nervous though, understandably so, and Hannibal was never going to push him.

“Six months,” Face mused, “and you’ll be a free man, nothing to do but play Sudoku and golf…” they both knew that was far from true and Hannibal just let the comment slide for the wind-up it was. He was far more concerned about what Face and the others would be doing out on deployment without him than worrying about filling his own days.

“You got a date for your sniper assessment then?” he knew Face was still bitter and resentful about needing to do it again, but also knew that his boy could go in there and blow everyone’s opinions of him right out of the water. The long pause was worrying though and he turned to look at his lover, finding him staring absently into the tree lights. “Face?” There was another pause, and then Face’s head swivelled to meet his eyes, almost snapped around in fact and Hannibal could see a decision in there and that worried him. 

“John…” he watched as Face swallowed, “I was going to save this for your birthday, but I guess you gave us all a late Christmas present today, why shouldn’t I get in on the act?”

That morning Hannibal had shown Face a hotel in the Caribbean, all-inclusive, top quality, right on the beach, luxury accommodation, and when Face had admired it wistfully, Hannibal had just booked it, right there and then, two weeks in February, just the four of them and then he’d found himself with an armful of beaming and excited Face. 

“Okay…” He felt that this wasn’t another vacation though. 

“That sniper thing?” he shook his head, “Not doing it.”

“Not doing it?” Hannibal's heart was thumping. “But… why not? You’re the best Temp, you know you are, I thought we’d covered this, and you said you were going to talk to Pathways about some counselling… you need to give yourself a chance.”

“I know, I know…” Face looked okay, looked calm and composed and far more certain than he had been since the hearing. “It’s not because of any of that, it’s because of this…” He dug in his back pocket and pulled out a folded envelope, passing it silently to Hannibal.

Taking it, Hannibal held Face’s eyes for just a moment and then slid his thumb under the flap, opening it up and tugging the single sheet of paper out before unfolding it and running his eyes backwards and forwards over the printed text. He read it once, then again, a frown creasing his brow before looking up at Face’s steady expression.

“Why?”

Face shrugged. “Because it’s time.”

Hannibal glanced back at the sheet in his hand. “You’ve got this through so quickly.”

Another shrug. “Maybe they were glad to get rid of me after all.”

Reaching out, Hannibal took his hand. “Face, look, I know you’re hurt and feel a bit let down over the way this whole thing went,” he ignored Face’s ironic huff. “But don’t let it force you into a snap decision.”

“I’ve not. It’s just time that’s all. Time I stopped risking everything. Time I need to spend with you. Time to stop giving my kids nightmares.”

Hannibal looked at him long and hard, slowly, slowly felt a smile pulling at his cheeks and then finally let it burst out. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, we’re doing this, kid. Retiring now, with you as well – it’s... I’m speechless.”

Face’s own expression blossomed into a grin then as well. “Shit, boss, don’t say I’m retiring! I’m too fucking young to retire! I’m restructuring, that’s all, a new challenge, a new start.”

“And I am old enough to retire?” Hannibal was growling but still couldn’t keep the grin from his face. Six more months and then Face would be out as well, safe and home, and they could live without all the shadow and worry and doubt. He leaned in, before Face could react to his dig, and kissed his lover hard on the lips. “Thank you. Thank you for everything baby, this is going to be…”

“Awesome?” they both said at once and burst out laughing.


End file.
